


Chiaroscuro

by Eiiri



Series: Chiaroscuro [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alien Biology, BAMF Amanda Grayson, Biological Imperatives, Callbacks to canon, Dubious Consent Due to Pon Farr, Everyone Knows Kirk and Spock are Into Each Other Except Them, Family Drama, In Space No One is Straight, Ion Storms Are Such Useful Plot Devices, It's Not Spock This Time!, M/M, Mixed-Species Relationships, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Makes Consent Weird, Post-Canon, Pre-Movies, Sarek is a Jerk, Space Hobos, Stowaways, The Enterprise Crew Have a Betting Pool, This Fic Sure Does Have Things To Say About Consent But I'm Not Sure What Exactly It's Saying, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, discussion of past trauma, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-02-16 16:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 32,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18695491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eiiri/pseuds/Eiiri
Summary: Chiaroscuro: A Study in ContrastThe Enterprise once more finds herself carrying Ambassador Sarek and his wife Amanda Grayson--Spock's parents.  Tension between father and son has hardly eased since the last time they saw one another.Throw in a pair of stowaways--one of them another, younger, half-Vulcan who identifies strictly with the other side of his heritage--and the ship becomes a tinderbox.  It only takes a spark to ignite a firestorm of conflict over logic, love, loyalty, and what it means to be Vulcan.  Those flames turn out to be what it takes to turn the torches Kirk and Spock carry for each other into something more.





	1. Chapter 1

“Considering how well things went last time 'round,” McCoy griped, “I can't say I'm looking forward to this.”

Kirk clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I don't think Starfleet much cares whether any of us are looking forward to it, Bones. The Summit meeting is on our way and at least this time we only have one ambassador to worry about.”

“Yeah, yeah.” McCoy tugged at the cuff of his dress uniform tunic. “But the one we've got is the one I'd most like to avoid. If he's not dyin' on us, him and Spock'll be glaring at each other the whole damn trip and swearing they're doing no such thing. I dunno that I've got the mettle for either.”

Kirk stifled a grin. “Well, you have about five minutes to prepare yourself.”

McCoy huffed and grumbled something to do with a Southern summer not being enough time.

Right on schedule, five minutes later, they were docking at Hestia-1, an independent space station variously described as a floating city, a grand bazaar, and an island of lost toys. It also happened to have been the site of a recent trade agreement signing, which had brought Ambassador Sarek and his wife to the station. Now Kirk went to meet them—as was his duty, even if it was merely a formality—and escort them to the ship, McCoy and Spock in tow along with a couple security officers.

Sarek and Amanda were waiting for them in the station's gardens. Kirk plastered a standard, diplomatic smile across his face. “Ambassador, I hope you're in better health.”

Sarek contemplated him a short moment. “I am.”

“Glad to hear it.” He turned to the ambassador's wife. “And Lady Amanda, always a pleasure.”

“So nice to see you again, Captain,” Amanda said pleasantly before turning to greet her son. “Spock, how are you?”

“I'm fine, Mother,” Spock said diplomatically.

“Of course you are.” Amanda gave a faint smile, almost a smirk, Kirk wasn't entirely sure he hadn't imagined—at least until Spock's eyebrow twitched up in turn. Amanda's smile widened as she turned again. “Doctor, I trust you're well.”

“Doing quite alright, thank you, ma'am.” McCoy gave a half bow.

For his part, Sarek just nodded his way through the niceties.

 

Once the ambassador and his wife had been shown to their quarters, the ship had been resupplied, and all the necessary bureaucracy with the station had been seen to, the Enterprise continued on her way.

The end of Alpha shift found Lady Amanda sitting in the Officer's Mess with Lt. Uhura and Nurse Chapel, sharing an angular pot of aromatic bright pink tea between them.

“He does have to be mindful not to overexert himself, still,” Amanda said to Nurse Chapel. “Even so, I can tell he is much more comfortable thanks to you and Dr. McCoy, and Spock, of course. I wish he'd tell you himself how grateful he is, but….” She trailed off, shook her head, and sipped her tea. “In any case, I know he'd rather be alive than dead, and I must admit I prefer him that way, too. At least since the council meeting on Babel I've managed to convince him that as his wife I deserve to be kept abreast of his health.”

“You have the patience of a saint,” Nurse Chapel said dryly.

“I genuinely don't know how you stay sane,” Lt. Uhura breathed, pouring herself another cup of tea.

Amanda shrugged. “I love him. It's amazing what love will teach us to tolerate, even to find endearing. Even so,” she grinned at them, “it is quite nice to have the opportunity to relax and spend time with other human women once in a while.”

“We have to stand together,” Lt. Uhura said, holding her cup out for Amanda to clink her own against. “Otherwise these men are going to drive us all crazy.”

“No matter their species,” Nurse Chapel added, clinking her cup with Uhura's, too.

Amanda laughed.

“Anyway,” Nurse Chapel began, “is that why Ambassador Sarek's been in your quarters more or less ever since the two of you joined us? He's having to rest?”

“So he says.” Amanda sighed. “I suspect, though, that the greater part of the truth is he's taking it as an excuse to avoid most of the crew. I do believe he's still rather embarrassed over causing such a fuss last time.”

“Sarek? Embarrassed?” Uhura teased. “That sounds unlikely.”

Amanda laughed softly. “The thing about Vulcans is they're not unfeeling, as much as they claim to be—I think you've both worked with my son long enough to know that. If anything, they feel more deeply than we do, it's just that it does take more to rouse their emotions than it does for us, and of course, no matter what they're feeling, they won't admit it. That part's mostly cultural and it's the most frustrating.”

“I can imagine,” Uhura said sympathetically.

“I can't.” Nurse Chapel snorted faintly. “I have almost the opposite problem, working with McCoy. His mood changes on hardly anything and I have to keep up.”

“Somehow, that's why he and Spock are friends,” Uhura said conspiratorially.

“Are they really?” Amanda asked. Uhura and Chapel nodded. Amanda smiled. “I'm glad to hear that. I knew he and the Captain were friends, but I'm heartened that he has more than the one.”

“The three of them are like _this_ ,” Uhura said, twining her index, middle, and ring fingers together. “The three Musketeers. There are jokes among the crew that one of these days we're going to find a planet where triple marriage is the norm and the whole world will assume the three of them are hitched, and they probably won't even notice until someone starts asking about their honeymoon.”

Amanda had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. Nurse Chapel almost choked on her tea with mirth.“I hadn't heard that one!”

“I heard it from Sulu,” Uhura giggled. “He says it's been going around Engineering.”

With a soft _fwshh_ , the door to the Mess opened and Spock walked in, hands clasped behind his back. The three women looked at each other and burst out in redoubled laughter.

One of Spock's eyebrows twitched up. “Am I...interrupting?”

“Of course not.” Uhura smiled angelically.

Spock fixed her with a stony stare for a moment then turned his gaze to Amanda. “You wanted to see me, Mother.”

“I did.” Amanda got smoothly to her feet and stepped around the table. “Are you free now?”

“If I weren't, I would not be here,” Spock pointed out.

“Naturally.” Amanda folded her hands into her flowing sleeves.“I was hoping you'd show me around the ship.”

“You've been given a tour of the ship previously,” Spock said, with a vague hint of puzzlement.

“I have,” Amanda agreed, “but never by you, and it's been some time. Indulge me, won't you?”

Spock took a breath and ever so slightly dipped his head. With a warm smile, Amanda followed her son out of the Mess.

“I sense,” Spock said softly as he and his mother walked down the corridor, “that you have ulterior motives for this.”

“Yes, but I'm hardly hiding them, Spock.” The cowl neck of Amanda's dress slipped off her shoulder and she fixed it. “I so rarely have the opportunity to see you, and even when I do we barely get to talk. Show me around, I'd love to see your favorite places on the ship, and I'm sure you've seen all sorts of incredible things during your duties that you could tell me about.”

“Well,” Spock began thoughtfully, turning his steps toward the ship's botanical garden, “have you ever heard of tribbles?”

“I haven't.”


	2. Chapter 2

“That's quite clever,” Amanda said, stepping out of the lift to the bridge alongside her son.

“It is not clever to come to a logical conclusion and act on it,” Spock objected coolly.

Captain Kirk turned over his shoulder, grinning crookedly. “Whatever the two of you are talking about, I'm sure it was _extremely_ clever.”

Spock shot Kirk a look that was decidedly not exasperated.

“Spock's just been showing me around,” Amanda said. “I hope I'm not intruding.”

“Of course not,” Kirk assured her. “Happy to have you, as long as we're not in the middle of a crisis. Which we're not. Here's hoping it stays that way, at least until we've gotten you and Sarek safely to Hawking seven in a few days.”

From the science station, Chekov glanced over toward the First Officer. “Um, sir...”

“I'm not resuming my post at this time,” Spock said.

“That's not—no.” Chekov was frowning. He double checked one of the readouts in front of him. “Captain, we did not take on any other passengers than Lady Amanda and Ambassador Sarek, correct?”

“That's correct,” Kirk confirmed, sitting forward in his chair.

Chekov looked quickly at Amanda. “You don't have any attendants, or anyone?”

Amanda shook her head. “Not this time, no. Is something wrong?”

“And we haven't had any change of crew?” Chekov asked Kirk.

“No, we haven't,” Kirk said sternly. “What are you getting at?”

“Just making sure there wasn't a good reason that sensors are indicating  _three_ Vulcan life signs aboard ship, sir,” Chekov said. “Either we have a very strange malfunction, or we have at least one stowaway in Cargo Bay Two.”

Kirk got to his feet. “I think I'd better go have a look. Send security to meet me. Mr. Spock, I think you'd better come along.”

Spock nodded once and quickly addressed the nearest subordinate, “Yeoman, escort Lady Amanda back to her quarters.”

He fell into step with the Captain back toward the lift as Kirk said, “Lt. Sulu, you have the bridge.”

 

Kirk and Spock convened with three red-clad security officers in the corridor outside Cargo Bay Two.

“Barring sensor malfunction,” Kirk explained to the officers, “which I honestly don't find likely, it seems we have a Vulcan stowaway hiding in the cargo bay. There may be others we aren't picking up for whatever reason. We don't know what this person or group wants, why they're here, or how they got on board, so exercise caution, but don't fire unless threatened. I want to be able to talk to them.”

The redshirts agreed and they, along with their Captain and First Officer, entered the bay and began a thorough but quiet sweep, peering between pallets, scanning containers, until Ensign Garrovick held up a fist to indicate he'd found something. The others joined him, assembling around a sizable container of dehydrated vittles that, by this point, must have been at least half used up. Kirk shared a look with Spock, grabbed the release handle on the container's front hatch, and yanked it open.

Sitting on the floor of the container with theirbacks against a pair of dufflebags, squinting against the sudden light, were two young men—one brunet and freckled, dressed in odd layers of vests and belts over a plain, threadbare shirt and trousers, the other bundled into a long, heavy coat, the tips of pointed ears poking through the straight black hair that hung past his shoulders. Eyeing the phasers trained on them, both boys slowly raised their hands, palms out in surrender.

“Stand up,” Kirk ordered, “and come out here where we can see you. Keep your hands up.”

The stowaways obeyed. The freckly human was slim but sturdy and muscular, slightly taller than Kirk, at least in his thick-soled boots. His companion, by comparison, was so willowy he looked as though wind would blow through him and his eyes were bloodshot green.

“What are you doing here?” Kirk demanded.

“Nothing,” the Vulcan said shortly.

“Just hitching a ride,” the human clarified, shooting a sharp look at his companion. “I swear we mean no harm.”

Kirk's eyes narrowed. “Who are you and how did you get aboard my ship?”

The Vulcan took a breath to speak but the human stepped on his foot and cut him off. “My name is Bryn; this is my partner, Leryk. We helped load your cargo then hunkered down in here when no one was looking. And we'd have stayed there, out of the way for a week or more if we could until you next docked somewhere, if you hadn't found us. We honestly didn't realize it was a Federation ship. I promise we don't want any trouble.”

“How did you find us?” Leryk asked.

“You're Vulcan,” Spock said simply.

“No, I'm not,” Leryk dissented, voice clipped. Bryn closed his eyes briefly; when he opened them they were trained on the ceiling.

One of Spock's eyebrows ticked up. “That statement is at odds with your physiology. We found you because our sensors indicated one Vulcan life sign too many aboard ship. It is apparent that you are the source of that life sign.”

Leryk sneered and sucked in a breath, but Bryn clamped a hand over his mouth before he could get any words out.

“How about _don't_ curse out the guys pointing weapons at us who are definitely considering throwing us in the brig right about now.” Bryn turned a strained, sheepish smile toward Kirk, Spock, and the security officers. “He's mixed and he's a little, uh, touchy about it.”

Kirk looked to Spock—Spock cocked his head in what passed for a shrug.

 

~*~

 

“I don't know, Dear,” Amanda said smoothly. She was playing a simple block-breaking game on a handheld tablet while her husband read through memos on a PADD. “It's a starship, strange things happen all the time. If the things Spock was recounting to me earlier are anything to judge by, this is hardly a blip. No mysterious radiation or silicon monsters.” She lowered her tablet to raise her eyebrows at Sarek. “No dignitaries on their deathbed in sickbay.”

The ambassador stared at her flatly overtop of his memos.

She smiled. “You know I'm just teasing you.”

The door chirped with a requested entry. Sarek said, “Enter.”

Spock stepped in, brow furrowed. “Do either of you know of any Vulcan-human hybrids, besides myself?”

Sarek said, “No,” at the same time Amanda said, “Yes.”

Her husband and son both turned to her with hard gazes.

“Maybe,” she amended. “I don't know anything for sure, but many years ago I did hear that there was a young half-human child being raised somewhere near Raal. The family seemed to be keeping the matter quiet, I only heard anything because a relative recognized me at the market and asked me a few things about how it had been caring for you when you were small.”

“Is the stowaway half Vulcan?” Sarek asked.

“One of them, yes,” Spock said, still looking intently at his mother. “The other is human.” He turned to Sarek. “They don't seem to be a threat. The Captain is deciding what to do with them now.”

 

~*~

 

“What am I going to do with you,” Kirk mused aloud, watching Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chapel check over Bryn and Leryk to make sure neither of them were carrying anything worrisome, or were in danger of dropping dead, which would cause its own set of problems.

“If we get any say in the matter, I'm going to vote against 'thrown in the brig' or 'thrown out the airlock,' please,” Bryn said while Nurse Chapel examined him. She bit back a grin at his words.

McCoy glanced back and forth between his tricorder and his patient a few times, glowering, before asking Leryk, “Are you feeling alright?”

“I'm cold,” Leryk said sourly. He pushed an overlong strand of his bangs out of his face.

“You're always cold,” Bryn pointed out.

“Is something the matter, Bones?” Kirk asked.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” McCoy sighed. He frowned at Leryk. “As far as I can tell, you're not sick with anything, but half the readings I'm getting from you don't make a whole lotta sense—not in line with baseline norms for humans, or Vulcans, or our own Mr. Spock who's best described as Vulcan with a few human clotting factors thrown in for flavor. You, though, are well and truly mixed. If you tell me you're fine, I don't have much choice but to believe you.”

“I'm fine, just cold,” Leryk griped. “Can I at least put my shirt back on?”

“Yeah, you might as well.” McCoy wandered off a couple steps as he made notes.

Leryk grabbed his microfleece tunic from the end of the cot, pulled it on over his head, freed his hair from the collar, then did up the rather fiddly criss-cross clasp at his throat.

Nurse Chapel stepped back from the other cot. “Bryn seems to be in perfect health, Doctor.”

“In that case,” McCoy looked up at Kirk and shrugged, “it's really up to you, Jim.”

Kirk pondered the two young men. “Where are you trying to go?”

“Anywhere we can stay for a while,” Bryn said. He hopped down from his own cot and climbed up next to Leryk.

“That's not made of ice,” Leryk added, taking Bryn's hand. Bryn lifted their hands together and pressed Leryk's knuckles to his lips. Leryk leaned into him slightly.

Kirk was struck by the remarkably un-Vulcan level of affection but kept his expression carefully neutral. “I can imagine an ice planet would be uncomfortable for you, if you're cold all the time, as Bryn says.”

“We lived on Baliel Alpha Six for more than a Terran decade, most of which was a local summer,” Bryn explained. “By the time it got to be mid autumn, there were icicles the size of a man's arm on every eave. We didn't want to go, that was home, but if we stayed he was gonna die.”

“That was a couple years ago,” Leryk said. “We've been transient since then.”

“You have no aim?” Kirk pressed. “No business?”

The boys shook their heads. Leryk shrugged. “Eat, sleep, stay alive.”

“We take odd jobs when we can find them,” Bryn added. “We're both pretty handy with small scale engineering.”

“Captain,” McCoy began with a bit of a smirk, “I do believe what these gentlemen are trying to tell you is that they're interplanetary hobos.”

Leryk downright grinned. “Something like that, yeah.”

McCoy's smirk cracked into a full-fleged smile. “You know, I think I like this one. Can we keep 'em, Jim?”

Kirk rolled his eyes and called in the security officer who'd been waiting just outside sickbay. “Get these two settled in guest quarters. They'll be staying with us for the time being, until we can figure out where they're going to rehome themselves.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Bryn said earnestly. Leryk shrugged into his coat, the two of them shouldered their duffles, and they followed the officer out.

“I never imagined,” McCoy said as the door slid closed behind them, “I'd ever meet a Vulcan with such, well, I'm not sure what to call it. Moxie, I guess.”

“Leryk seems quite adamant that he's _not_ Vulcan, Bones.”

“Half-Vulcan, in any case,” McCoy conceded with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It gives me hope.”

Kirk shook his head ruefully.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mess was as crowded as it usually was at meal time, the tables full of crew eating and chatting. Kirk took his tray from the synthesizer and went to sit with Spock and his parents. Sarek was in the midst of explaining in exceeding detail the purpose of the summit on Hawking VII and all the political factors playing into it. Kirk unwrapped his sandwich slowly, listening, but he could already feel his brain tuning out. Amanda caught his eye knowingly and snapped a crisp flatbreadneatly in half.

A couple ensigns left the Mess and Bryn and Leryk passed them on their way in. Conversations lulled as, with varying degrees of subtlety, everyone eyed the two young men. The pair of them went over to the bank synthesizers and exchanged a look. Leryk shook his head.

Lt. Uhura got up from her seat nearby and approached them, smiling gently. “You must be the fellows they found in the cargo bay. Have you ever used a food synthesizer before?”

“Not like these, no,” Bryn admitted.

“And we can't pay,” Leryk said shortly.

“Oh, you don't have to pay anything,” Uhura assured them.“You just pick out a meal from here,” she gestured to a rack of cards in the corner, “put the card in the slot above the keypad, then press that blue button.”

Leryk picked up a few cards and glanced through them, then looked back up at Uhura. “I have some...dietary restrictions.”

“So do quite a few members of crew, for one reason or another,” Uhura said. “I'm sure you'll find something, but if you can't, we do have a chef I'm sure would be happy to make you something.”

“Thank you,” Leryk said warmly. Bryn, thumbing through the cards, smacked Leryk's shoulder to get his attention and held up a card, which Leryk took from him.

Sarek finished his uninterrupted spiel about trilateral trade agreements and interstellar hegemony, took a sip of his drink, and glanced toward where Leryk and Bryn were settling into seats across from Uhura. “Those are the stowaways, then?”

“Yes,” Kirk confirmed. “They're guests of the ship, now, along with yourself.”

“Treating stowaways as guests is most irregular, Captain,” Sarek said.

“I must agree,” Spock intoned over his cup of tea.

“I see no reason not to,” Kirk said. “They mean no harm, they seem like a couple of bright young men with plenty of potential and nowhere to go, and, besides, they're young—both of them under twenty-five, when the human brain finishes developing. I'm not inclined to hold it against them that they made some youthful reckless decisions to land themselves in my cargo bay. I'd be a hypocrite if I did.”

“That may partially excuse the behavior of the one,” Sarek said levelly, “but the other is half Vulcan and must, accordingly, be held to different standards. The Vulcan mind matures much younger than—”

“First of all, _sa'mekh'al_ , I can hear you,” Leryk called from across the room. “Second, I've never met you in my life so don't you presume to know anything about me. Third, I am my father's son. My mother's family is not my own, her people are not my people. I am not Vulcan. Don't hold me to your pretentious dictatorial standards.”

The room now very quiet, Leryk resumed eating. Next to him, Bryn sighed into his bowl of noodles.

Kirk idly picked a tomato off his sandwich and resolutely did not look at Sarek or Spock. This was going to be a long trip to Hawking VII.

 

~*~

 

Kirk spent most of his next circadian morning “helping” Scotty track down the source of a minor but persistent power-routing malfunction, which really meant checking in every quarter hour or so to let Scotty rant at him in a pidgin that was really more Scots and Gaelic than it was English about having not fixed the problem yet.

When the issue was finally identified and resolved, Scotty came up to the bridge in person to regale Kirk and the rest of the bridge crew with the details of what had gone awry and how he'd fixed it.

“Anyway,” Scotty said with a sigh, “I put the bit back in upside-down because that was a whole helluva lot simpler than reversing the wiring through the whole thing, put a note in the panel cover and the ship's records explaining that that bit really has got to be upside down, and it shouldn't be acting up anymore, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” Kirk said, biting back laughter. At the con, Lt. Hadley was failing to do the same. Hehad dropped his face into one hand, overcome with giggles around the midway point of Scotty's oration.

“You're welcome, sir.” Scotty rocked back on his heels. “If there're no objections, I'm going to go grab myself something to eat, since I spent my lunch chasing gremlins, then see if I can't figure out what caused those gremlinsin the first place.”

“That sounds like a good plan, Scotty,” Kirk said warmly. As the door slid closed behind his Chief Engineer, Kirk shook his head, chuckling. He picked up the systems report he'd been reading before Scotty's arrival, scanned back a couple paragraphs, and kept reading. Other than that morning's gremlins, everything seemed to be running smoothly and uneventfully, for once. Not counting the stowaways, but that was a different matter entirely and it was fine. The Enterprise was facing smooth sailing.

Kirk signed the report and handed it off, thenstood and stretched. “I,” he yawned, “excuse me, am going to go have coffee. Mr. Spock, you have the con.”

With that, he left the bridge. Once he'd gotten his coffee, he wandered a bit, making himself visible to the crew. It was good for morale.

As he neared the recreation complex on Deck 7, he heard muffled music along the corridor. Drawing closer, it sounded like maybe mid- or early-21st Century Europop, and it was coming from one of the lounges. Curious, Kirk peeked in.

Most of the furniture had been detached from the floor and shoved out of the way, and aspontaneous dance party seemed to have broken out, mostly among some of the younger Beta and Gamma shift science techs, though there were a handful of red and gold uniforms amongst the blue—and, Kirk couldn't help but notice, Bryn and Leryk were there as well, ballroom dancing together at the heart of it all, Leryk with one hand on Bryn's chest rather than his shoulder, Bryn with his hand to Leryk's ribs.

The song came to an end and dancers and observers alike applauded, laughing cheerfully. Kirk applauded, too, holding his coffee in the crook of his arm. “I wish someone would have told me,” he said loudly, effectively and suddenly getting the attention of everyone in the room, “we were having a party down here.”

“Captain,” the nearest blue-skirted tech squeaked, “we were just—”

Kirk shook his head and waved a hand. “You're alright, I'm teasing.” He nodded toward Bryn and Leryk. “I'm glad to see the two of you seem to have made yourselves comfortable.”

The pair looked at each other and shrugged, almost sheepishly. They were both flushed from dancing, especially Leryk, who'd gone quite emerald from his cheekbones to his chest, despite having his hair pulled up and being in a much lighter weight shirt than the day before. He tucked a bit of his bangs away and glanced at the captain. “I'm pretty sure we started this whole thing.”

“You did,” a redheaded yeoman confirmed brightly.

Kirk smiled. “Well, don't let me stop your fun—whoever's running the music, call up another song.”

The next song started up, but Leryk and Bryn stepped off the dance floor to sit, catch their breath, and reclaim their drinks, which brought them near to the Captain. He gave them a once over and noted, “Leryk, I'm going to hazard a guess that you're not cold right now.”

Leryk snorted. “Give me five minutes and I will be.”

“Mm, more like ten,” Bryn corrected, grinning.

“I know a bit about dancing myself, you know,” Kirk said conversationally, “but I don't think I've seen a ballroom hold quite like what you were doing. Where's that from?”

“We made it up,” Bryn said as Leryk pulled him into his lap. “Jeez, you're clingy today. Anyway, yeah, we realized at some point that since our hearts are on opposite sides, if we're facing each other, we can each have one hand on the other's heart and still have hands free to do the other half of a traditional hold. It's really nothing innovative, it's just us being sappy.”

“I think it can be sappy and innovative at the same time,” Kirk mused. “I figure that's how quite a few things have been come up with over the years.”

 

Even after it fizzled out, the Deck 7 dance party made ripples through the ship, putting most of the crew in a musical mood, prompting everything from security officers skipping down the corridor in recreation of the oldest surviving _Wizard of Oz_ film adaptation, to Scotty leading the whole of engineering in a round of bawdy drinking songs. Not long into dinner, Leryk and Sulu were up out of their seats, the former teaching the latter to foxtrot, much to the amusement of the other officers nearby.

On the other side of the Mess, Spock stirred his soup with practiced disinterest, and Sarek was absolutely not glowering. Amanda, though, was smiling and kept turning over her shoulder to watch.

“You are distracted, my wife,” Sarek intoned.

“I'm intrigued, my husband,” Amanda replied easily. “I like to see young people enjoying themselves and teaching each other. It helps them become stronger and wiser than their parents.”

Spock lifted his bowl of soup to his mouth, watching his mother.

“I caught a bit of the, uh, festivities earlier,” Kirk said, “and, Amanda, I think you'll appreciate this: when Leryk and Bryn dance together, they hold one another such that they can each have one hand on the other's heart.”

“Oh, that's sweet,” Amanda said fondly. She tucked some berries from one of her side dishes into the open side of her pouch-pie and took a bite.

“I thought so,” Kirk agreed over his own pie.

Sarek exhaled sharply through his nose.

Kirk looked over at him. “You think otherwise, Ambassador?”

“I think,” Sarek said, “it's all a frivolous waste of energy.”

“Humans, at least, need a bit of frivolity sometimes,” Kirk said, watching Sulu bow out and return to his seat.

“Nonetheless, the time and effort being put into this dancing, even that which is being put into the relationship between those two young men, would be of far greater utility spent elsewhere.”

“I suppose I did ask,” Kirk sighed. “And you may be right about the dancing, but saying the same of their relationship seems harsh.”

Sarek quirked a brow. “They are both male. Even with the assistance of medical science it is impossible for them to reproduce, so their mating is pointless. It is illogical to pursue a pairing of which nothing can ever come.”

“Well, I'm sterile anyway so it doesn't matter,” Leryk said coldly from a few feet behind Sarek. “And the point is that I love him, not that it's any of your business.” He crossed his arms. “Why do you even care?”

“I don't care,” Sarek objected dispassionately. “I am simply stating the facts of the matter.”

“Sure, as you see them,” Leryk scoffed. “Problem is, your priorities are bullshit—that's the problem with your whole damn species. It's not your relationship, you don't even know us, so it's not your place to decide if it's worth it or not, you judgmental old—”

“Leryk!” Bryn said quickly, hurrying over to grab his partner by the arm and tug him back to their table. “C'mon, your rice is starting to dry out.” He flashed an apologetic smile at the ambassador's table, “Sorry to interrupt!” then added under his breath to Leryk, “I get that you hate him on principle, but you really don't have to confront him over everything.”

Sarek squared his shoulders superiorly and sipped his own soup. Kirk could feel Spock side-eyeing him but he didn't meet the First Officer's gaze.

Amanda folded her napkin neatly, set it deliberately on the table next to her tray, and kept her hand there.“It strikes me as—not illogical, I suppose, but potentially hypocritical that you, my dear, would take such a negative stance toward someone selecting a partner who is perhaps an incongruous choice for them.”

Sarek gave her a hard look and wordlessly lay his hand over hers on the tabletop.

Shepulled her hand away. “I mean no disrespect, of course. You know I’d never dream of defying you, especially in public, I just am failing to follow your thought process and would appreciate it if you’d explain.”

“I believe I already did,” Sarek said shortly.

“You explained,” Spock said, speaking up for the first time, a faint edge to his tone that Kirk couldn't quite place, “why you view a homosexual, and therefore reproductively inviable, pairing such as Leryk and Bryn as unsuitable. I think what my mother is asking, is how that is any different from your marriage to her, considering that, I believe I recall being told, prior to my birth common opinion was that the two of you were an equally inviable pairing.”

“Yes,” Amanda said, “that is what I'm asking.”

“Obviously, ours was not inviable,” Sarek said, then silently resumed eating. Kirk saw Amanda and Spock exchange a heavy glance, but neither of them spoke for the rest of the meal. As a result, Kirk kept quiet as well.


	4. Chapter 4

The Enterprise lurched slightly just as Kirk came onto the bridge the next morning, nearly knocking him off balance. He clutched the railing on the way to his chair. “What was that? Status report.”

“We are approaching an ion storm, Captain,” Chekov replied.

“Well, can we go around it?” Kirk asked.

Sulu shook his head. “Not reasonably, sir, no. It's too big, it would take well over a week to circumnavigate, possibly as long as a month.”

“And we don't have that much time before the summit on Hawking seven.” Kirk ran a hand over his face. “Is there a way we can safely go through the storm?”

“I believe so, sir,” Chekov said. “The storm body is large, but not very powerful, and there are currents inside it that create create river-like zones of higher and lower intensity. If we stick to the lower intensity zones, we ought to be fine, Captain.”

“Doing so will cause some delays,” Sulu added, “but not nearly as much as trying to go around would.”

“Very well,” Kirk sighed. “Mr. Sulu, take us through that storm. Notify all personnel that we will be experiencing unusual amounts of turbulence until further notice.”

 

Meanwhile, down in guest quarters, the ambassador's family were in the midst of a row that had been brewing since the night before.

“You should remember your place, Amanda,” Sarek said.

“And you should remember yours,” Amanda retorted. “You should also stop evading every question presented to you that challenges your position.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, “in your efforts to avoid conceding your wife's points you have very nearly committed three logical fallacies in the past twenty minutes.”

Sarek shot his son an exceedingly cold look.

“There are perfectly valid reasons for people to take one another as mates without procreation being a factor at all,” Amanda insisted. “Love is most certainly one of them.”

“It is not the Vulcan way,” Sarek said simply, as if that settled everything.

“So you've said,” Amanda notedtersely, “but I'm not suggesting that it is. I'm saying that other ways are just as valid.” She looked to her son. “Is he straw-manning?”

Spock inclined his head. “There is certainly an argument to be made that he is. And, frankly, Ambassador, it strikes me as odd that someone with as much diplomatic prowess as yourself would be having such difficulty accepting such a premise. Besides, Leryk has made it quite clear that he does not consider himself Vulcan, despite his parentage, so it being the Vulcan way or not is inconsequential.”

“I really don't understand why you can't either let this go or admit you're wrong, Sarek” Amanda sighed, rubbing her temple with her thumb. “All matters of species identity and philosophy aside, though, quite simply, I believe an individual has the power to choose their own partner, and in many cases is better equipped to do so than anyone else. I'd think your own personal life experience ought to support that, if nothing else.”

Sarek narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Amanda held out her arms, “no one would have ever chosen me for you. In fact, I remember much of your family opposing our marriage. _And_ , your selection of a mate for Spock failed spectacularly. Honestly, if you were incapable of accurately judging who would be a suitable partner for your own son, I don't see how you can reasonably judge anyone else's selection of a partner for themselves, Vulcan or otherwise.”

Sarek stared hard at his wife, glanced at his son, and exhaled slowly through his nose. “I'm going to lay down.”

With that he removed himself to the other side of the partial wall that divided their quarters into a sitting area and a bedroom. Amanda clasped her hands together and looked to the ceiling, then she took a step toward her son and leaned into him to whisper. “We ought to leave your father to rest.”

“We could relocate to my quarters,” Spock suggested quietly, already leading the way out the door.

“Don't you have duties?” Amanda asked as they exited to the corridor.

“Ensign Chekov is quite capable of handling my regular bridge duties, and the Captain has encouraged me to prioritize family matters as long as you are aboard.”

The ship lurched, not for the first time that morning. Amanda put a hand on the wall for stability and raised an eyebrow at her son.

He paused briefly. “I will be called if I am needed.”

“Alright….”

Once they'd gotten to Spock's quarters, Amanda settled herself in his desk chair, turned away from the desk so they could face each other. She shook her head. “I shouldn't have brought up your aborted betrothal. That wasn't fair to him, and it was inconsiderate to you.”

“On the contrary, it was good evidence in support of you point, which I believe is a valid one. There is no unfairness in that, and I do not see how it is inconsiderate.”

“Spock,” Amanda said patiently, “it was unfair because it was a low blow. Not that he'll ever admit it, but he worries about you, particularly that for you to go through life unmarried would be a lost opportunity for you, that it will leave you unfulfilled in some way, and it could definitely, if indirectly, kill you, you know. If that were to happen, he would see it as his fault for failing to secure you a mate, and the mere possibility bothers him deeply. As for it being inconsiderate, it is generally in poor form to bring up break ups without warning.”

“The dissolution of my childhood betrothal hardly counts as a 'break up,'” Spock noted. “I did not know she who was to be my wife. Her being removed from my future is no loss to me. I did, briefly, believe myself to have lost a...dear friend in the process of that dissolution, but as that was a ruse,” he shrugged, “the entire event passed with little to no consequence for my present state.”

Amanda studied him carefully. “Yes, I heard about Captain Kirk faking his death.”

Spock nodded. “He and Dr. McCoy devised a truly remarkable scheme, having identified an alternative way out of the situation I doubt I would have seen, even if I had been in full command of my faculties at the time. Though, despite their planning, the Captain still could have been killed, and while I appreciate that he is evidently prepared to sacrifice himself on my behalf—”

“As you would do for him, I'm sure,” Amanda interjected.

“Naturally,” Spock confirmed, “but his survival in any given situation is of greater importance to the ship and its mission than mine is, therefore I ultimately find the implications of the gesture troubling.”

Amanda leaned back in her chair. “I see.”

Spock pondered her a moment. “Do you share my father's concerns regarding my marital status?”

“No.” Amanda smiled softly. “I meant what I said earlier about individuals finding their own partners. I have full faith that you can and will select a mate for yourself when it is the right time in your life for you to do so. Someone you trust, and who trusts you, that you get along with, who understands you, maybe, just maybe, who you even love. As long as that person is someone you're happy—” she stopped herself at Spock's expression and continued, almost smirking “—I mean, satisfied with, I know I'll support the pairing, no matter who she or he or they or xi may be. It may take Sarek some time to come around, depending on who this hypothetical person turns out to be, but I'm sure that in time his preference to notsee you live out your life solitarily would win out.”

 

~*~

 

After lunch, Bryn sat on the corner of his and Leryk's bed, bunching the thin orange blanket in his fingers, anxiously watching Leryk retch into the commode of the head adjoining their temporary home. Leryk sat back and moved to lean against the wall, eyesclosed. He felt around for the cup of water Bryn had brought him, picked it up, grimaced at it, then drank. “It's nothing but bile at this point.”

Bryn went and joined him on the floor, reaching out to smooth Leryk's choppy bangs away from his dry, cool forehead. “Do you think you ate something you're sensitive to?”

Leryk shook his head. “I've hardly had anything but chicken, rice, and water for the past three days. No red meat, no dairy, no wheat or triticale, nothing in the nightshade or _savas dukal_ families, and nothing high in vitamin E. There's no way.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Maybe I'm just space sick.”

Bryn frowned. “You don't normally get space sick.”

“I'm not normally on a ship that's wobbling like a jelly every few minutes because it's flying through a fucking ion storm, either.”

“That's a fair point.” Bryn sighed. “Just, promise if you're not feeling better by dinner you will go to sickbay, just in case.”

“I promise,” Leryk breathed. He held up two fingers; Bryn twined his own fingers around them and leaned forward to kiss the top of Leryk's hair.

 

By dinner, Leryk was distinctly worse. He was barely even keeping water down, he was flushed and shivery, and, “You remember those, uh, those, what were they called? Ayadi? From Tershier three?” Leryk asked weakly.

“The spiky mouse things?” Bryn petted Leryk's hair gently where he was lying with his head is Bryn's lap.

“Yeah,” Leryk croaked. He half opened his eyes. “I feel like I've got about five of 'em fighting inside my skull.”

Bryn pursed his lips and took a breath. “C'mon, let's get you to your feet. I don't know when I last saw you this sick, you're going to sickbay.”

He helped Leryk up and into his coat, and with Leryk leaning heavily on Bryn they set out towardsickbay. Along the way, they turned a corner and very nearly walked into the ambassador's wife. She stepped back, apologizing quickly, and took in the sight of them.Sheput a hand to her mouth, “Leryk, are you alright?”

He glared at her pallidly.

“No, he's not alright,” Bryn snapped. “Excuse us.” He pushed past her.

When they got to sickbay, one of the nurses hurried to help get Leryk to a cot and called for the doctor. McCoy strode in and immediately set about checking Leryk over, barely pausing to glance at Bryn. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Bryn said. “He's been ill since we ate lunch, but we don't think it can be anything he ate.”

McCoy frowned and continued with the examination. He administered anti-nausea medication and pain killers, then shook his head. “I'm afraid I don't know what's the matter with you, Leryk. Based on the baselines I have from you from a couple days ago, I don't have muchto lead me in the right direction. You've got a few counts that are a little bit up, and a few that are a little bit down. Only thing I'm sure means mucha anything is your temperature is elevated.As much as a fever is a sure sign that there's _something_ wrong past simple space sickness, fevers are incredibly vague.” He huffed and glared at the readouts of his instruments. “You're sure you didn't eat anything new?”

“I'm sure,” Leryk said. He ran his hands over his face, still laying on his back on the cot, feet flat on the mattress, knees propped up. “I've eaten the same thing in slightly different configurations every meal since we were found.”

“Have you done anything unusual?” McCoy asked. “I don't known, been down to engineering? Or any of the labs?”

“No,” Leryk said dully.

“Well,” McCoy tossed up a hand, “did the two of you have sex?”

Leryk took a breath. “No.”

“And, with all due respect Doctor,” Bryn said, “if fuckingmade him sick, we'd have noticed a long time ago.”

“Yes, I'm sure you would have,” McCoy said with a waning veneer of patience. “But if _you_ ate something odd and the two of you were then intimate, it could cause a reaction in _him_. Hell, it only takes kissing. When I was in school I saw a girl with a nut allergy almost die because her boyfriend had eaten a PB'n'J some six hours before they kissed hello.”

Bryn shot Leryk an anxious look. Leryk sighed. “My food sensitivities aren't allergies—except for _savas dukal-yel-travek_ , which I know Bryn hasn't had 'cause he hates it—I just can't digest crap.”

McCoy folded his arms. “Then I don't know what to tell you. I'd say food poisoning, but, as far as I can tell you don't have any kind of infection. Next guess was a non-anaphylactic allergic response, because some of what I'm seeing here could be in line with a histamine reaction, but you don't just have an allergic reaction to nothing. Best I can do is treat the symptoms and hope you get better on your own. Are the medications at least helping?”

“They are,” Leryk said.

“Well, that's good.” McCoy gave Leryk a single pat on the knee. “You rest here for a while. I'll have one of the nurses bring you some supper, we'll see if you can keep it down. Bryn, you can stay if you'd like, or not. I'll leave that up to the two of you.”

The doctor stepped away. Bryn took Leryk's hand. Leryk twined their fingers. “Go, have dinner.”

“I'm not just gonna leave you here,” Bryn objected quietly.

“For the first time in my life I'm under the care of medical staff who have half a clue how my goddamn hybrid body works.” He gave Bryn's hand a squeeze. “I'll be okay. Besides, you've seen me puke more than enough today. Go. Then come right back.”

Bryn smiled slightly. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

Even though it was getting to be on the late side for dinner, the Mess was still crowded enough to be more people than Bryn felt like facing. He didn't even go in, just turned on his heel and went to find his way to one of the observation lounges, hoping that they, like the recreation lounges, had food synthesizers, too.

Way down on Deck 11, he found a nearly deserted lounge with dim lights, one wall all windows looking out on the unending field of stars, and, most importantly, synthesizers. He picked out a card and was about to slot it into the synthesizer when he hesitated, stepped back, and flipped the card over to read the back. Chewing his lip, he replaced the card and picked out one he was sure Leryk would have been able toeat as well. Just in case.

He took his tray, turned to find a seat, and for the first time paid attention to the one other figure in the room. She was sitting in front of the windows, silhouetted by the tiny far-off suns of innumerable worlds, and she was watching him. He didn't move. She carefully set aside the mug she was holding, stood, and stepped around her table. “Hello, there. I don't believe we've been _formal_ _l_ _y_ introduced—it's Bryn, isn't it?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bryn said softly.

“Please, it's Amanda.” She smiled gently. “I was just having an after-dinner coffee. Would you care to sit with me?”

Bryn glanced aside at all the other empty tables, then nodded. They sat across from one another. He poked at his rice and ate a little. She rotated her mug in her hands. “You and your partner have been the talk of the ship these past couple days. Is he alright?”

“He's ill,” Bryn answered. “Has been since lunch. He's in sickbay; the doctor doesn't know what's wrong.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Amanda said earnestly. “But he's in the best hands he can be. Dr. McCoy is a good man and a brilliant physician. He saved my husband's life a couple years ago.”

Bryn looked up from his admittedly bland meal. “He did?”

Amanda nodded. “More or less invented an entirely new procedure to do it, despite having never operated on a Vulcan before, and all while the ship was under attack. There's no one I'd rather trust my loved ones to the care of.”

“That's good to know,” Bryn murmured. “Thank you.” He took a breath and let it out. “I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“There's no need for that,” Amanda assured him. “You were in a hurry and you were worried for someone you love; I was in your way. All things considered, I think you were remarkably polite.”

Bryn gave a short, dry laugh. “Even so.”

“If anything, I feel like I ought to be apologizing to you, on my husband's behalf.”

“If he's not the one apologizing that doesn't mean much,” Bryn pointed out. He stabbed listlessly at his chicken with his fork. “I don't think there's much point, anyway. It's Leryk who's offended by him, not me, and he's a Vulcan authority figure, Leryk's gonna hate him pretty much no matter what he says or does.”

Amanda sipped her coffee. “Hate is a strong word.”

“Leryk feels strongly.”

“May I ask why?” Amanda looked down into her mug. “I think I met one of his relatives once—it was years and years ago, he must have been very young—an older aunt or a foremother, I'd guess. She mentioned there was a hybrid child in her family who was sickly, she knew I had a hybrid son so she asked me for advice. She did seem to care, albeit in the usual, detached Vulcan manner. Still, I can hardly imagine what could turn a young man so cold to his family and the planet that raised him.”

Bryn stopped eating, let his hand fall slack to the table, and stared at her for a long moment. “Don't even try to tell me your son _never_ faced any prejudice for being a mutt.”

Amanda pressed her lips into a thin line. “No, you're right.”

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Bryn pushed what was left of his food aside and folded his arms on the tabletop. “Whatever he got, that's with being the child of respectable, married parents who, I presume, both claimed him as legitimately their own. Leryk was a lovechild on a planet that doesn't believe in love. His mother told him to his face when he was a little boy that his conception was a mistake, a lapse in judgement. His stepfather never claimed him and obviously favored his own children, Leryk's younger half siblings, over him. They were given every opportunity while Leryk was hidden away. All that, to a child who, despite the color of his blood, is and always has been human at heart. He was mocked for being half human, he was mocked for being emotional, he was mocked for being sickly. No one in his family would do anything to help him because they thought it shouldn't bother him in the first place. He was barely six when they started leaving him to feed himself since he wouldn't eat most of what his mother cooked, _because it made him sick_. He was neglected to the point of abuse in the name of 'the Vulcan way.' Is it any wonder he's resentful?”

“No.” Amanda brushed a thumb under her eye and looked out the window. “I wish I'd known. I would have—”

“Helped?” Bryn shrugged dismissively. “The thought's twelve years too late, ma'am.”

“Yes, of course. Nonetheless, I wish I could have.” She paused, then frowned. “What do you mean he was a lovechild? He couldn't have been an accident, I had to take a whole rainbow of Vulcan prenatal vitamins and hormone supplements just to have a chance at having a child with Sarek.”

“I don't know how, but he damn sure he wasn't planned.” He stood and picked up his tray. “I should get back to him.”

“Of course.” Amanda gave a thin smile. “I hope he's doing better.”

“Thanks. I hope we make it to Hawking Seven without our respective mates killing each other,” Bryn muttered as he turned to walk away.

 

Leryk was sitting up on his cot when Bryn got back to sickbay. He wasn't so pale anymore, having regained a bit of healthy verdigris since—judging by the empty bowl on the stand beside him—managing to actually eat something. Bryn went to him.

“You look better.”

Leryk gave a noncommittal half shrug. “Eating helped. I still don't feel right, though.”

“I'm sure.” Bryn tucked Leryk's hair behind his ear and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The doctor rapped his knuckles on the wall by the doorway. “Sorry to intrude, but, Leryk, you're discharged.” He held out two pill bottles. “Take one of these every hour, and two of these every four hours until your symptoms stop returning. I wish there was more I could do for you.”

“It's fine.” Leryk pocketed the pills and got uneasily to his feet. Bryn reached to support him but Leryk held up a hand to ward him off. “I can walk.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “Thank you, Doctor.”

He made for the door. McCoy caught Bryn's eye and gave him a sympathetic half smile, then Bryn followed his partner out.

 

~*~

 

Kirk lay down and sank into his mattress with a low groan. He had an odd crick in his back from lounging at a jaunty angle in his chair, exactly like Spock had warned him he would. Of course Spock had been right, the justifiably arrogant jerk.

Yawning, Kirk rolled over to make sure his alarm was set for the morning. It made his back twinge. He rolled back over and stared at the ceiling in the dark. He could feel more than hear the low soothing _thrum_ of the engines that vibrated through the ship.

Faintly through the wall, he heard the sink run in the head his quarters shared with Spock's. His First Officer must have been turning in for the night as well. He sometimes wondered exactly what Spock's morning and evening routines consisted of. Despite their shared bathroom, their schedules were just off enough from one another that he really had no idea, and he'd never asked. It wasn't that he thought Spock would be offended— _offended_ was one of those pesky human emotions Spock didn't bother with—but he couldn't help but feel it would be inappropriate, invasive. Yet he couldn't help but be curious, either.

It seemed that his attitude toward Spock at any given moment was guaranteed to be curious, frustrated beyond belief, immensely grateful, terrified of losing him, or some strange combination of the above. Kirk sighed and rolled the other way—that at least was more comfortable. It might have been in his best interest to go to sickbay, but he didn't want to face Bones's exasperation that he'd managed to pull a muscle just sitting in his chair. No fights, no away mission. He didn't even have the excuse of falling due to particularly rough lurches of ion storm turbulence like a couple crewmen had done.

He shoved a pillow under his side and closed his eyes. He knew exactly what to make of his feelings toward Spock. He'd known for well over a year, and if he was being honest he'd felt it long before he'd realized it, but he hadn't breathed a word of it to anyone. There was no point. This was the most hopeless crush he'd had since Emma Wittiger back in Iowa, which was saying something considering she had been his babysitter and more than a decade older than him. The only person he could even consider telling was Bones, and he'd probably just tease Kirk for it. Mercilessly.

So he'd taken his schoolboy infatuation, packed it away neatly in the back of his mind, and done quite a good job of leaving it there. He was glad to be friends with Spock, he really was.

The storm rocked the ship, but gently this time, as though it were trying to rock the Captain to sleep.

He wanted to continue being friends with Spock and tobe secure in the thought that they would continue to be friends far more than he wanted to gamble on the effectively null odds that his crush might not have been unrequited. Since he'd decided that, he really hadn't thought about it much, at least not consciously, but these past few days, with Sarek and Amanda and Leryk and Bryn aboard, he had been. In Amanda and Bryn he kept catching glimpses of _what could be if…_. Especially in Amanda. He'd been too occupied last time by the various crises at hand to notice how she'd respond to her husband with what sounded like the detached, demure, reasoned air one would expect of a Vulcan ambassador's wife, but do it with a knowing glimmer in her eye, as though she were in on some secret, and Sarek knew it. It wasn't until he'd noticed that, either, that Kirk realized how much Spock looked like his mother. He saw the resemblance suddenly when he recognized that look as the very same look Spock would turn on him, sometimes even on McCoy, when the First Officer was pretending for the sake of appearances not to understand their friendly teasing or idiomatic banter.

With a huff, Kirk tossed aside the pillow he was laying on, arranged himself flat on his back, and endeavoredto make himself sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a chief officers' meeting in the morning, a formality which mostly served as a time to go around the room and give everyone a chance to say that everything was fine when there were no crises, and which there was rarely time for when there was a crisis and such a meeting would have been useful. Other than minor damage from the storm they were still making their way through, there was little to report, so the meeting concluded quickly.

McCoy was the last to rise from the table—he was still sitting, jaw propped on one fist, when most everyone else had left the room. Lingering by the door, Spock caught the Captain's eye and glanced questioningly at the doctor. Kirk walked around the table and poked his friend in the shoulder. “Enterprise to Bones, come in Bones.”

With a start, McCoy looked up at Kirk, shook himself, and stood. “Sorry 'bout that, lost in my own head for a minute there.”

“You do seem distracted, Doctor,” Spock noted

Frowning slightly, Kirk asked, “Is something the matter?”

“I don't know,” McCoy admitted sourly with a shake of his head. He paused a moment, weighing his words. “I'm telling the two of you this in confidence so don't go around parroting it, but Leryk came into sickbay last night, Bryn half carrying him. The boy was severely ill, and the hell of it is, I have no idea why. I've given him medications to treat the symptoms—mostly vomiting, headache, and fever—and they're helping him, but it's really nagging at me that I just don't know what's wrong. Spock, if you feel like pulling some obscure Vulcan diagnosis outta your ass, it would be much appreciated, but I'm baffled. And frankly, I'm worried about him.”

Spock inclined his head. “What were the results of your testing?”

McCoy told him.

Spock pondered and shook his head. “I do not know of any ailment that could explain his symptoms that is not already ruled out by your findings.”

McCoy sighed. “I didn't expect any different.”

“If I may make a slightly ridiculous suggestion,” Kirk said slowly, “is there any chance he could be pregnant?”

Both Spock and Bones blinked at him. McCoy shook his head. “No, Jim, at the very least I'm sure he is entirely male.”

Kirk shrugged. “I did say it was ridiculous, we've seen weirder, and bad morning sickness is the only thing I can think of you hadn't explicit ruled out.”

“He's not pregnant,” Bones said exasperatedly. “He doesn't have the equipment to be, and he got sick later in the day anyway.” He waved them off. “I hate idiopathic conditions, but I'm pretty sure Leryk's not in danger, just borderline miserable until he gets better on his own.”

 

~*~

 

At lunch, Bryn found himself once again looking on anxiously while Leryk chewed out the Vulcan ambassador. He wasn't even sure what had started it this time.

Amanda wordlessly came to sit next to him carrying a teapot and two cups.

“Since you can't seem to get it through your unreasonably dense skull in Standard,” Leryk sneered venomously, “ _Ri_ _whl'q'n_ _nash_ _-veh_!”

“So you protest,” Sarek said, “yet you speak the language.”

Amanda silently poured two cups of tea.

Leryk snorted derisively. He was clutching the back of a chair to keep himself steady. “I speak Russian, French, two Andorian dialects, and a little Klingon, too. Doesn't make me any of those things.”

“ _Ty govorish' po-russki_?” Chekov asked excitedly from the next table.

Amanda slid a cup of tea towards Bryn.

“ _Da._ ” Leryk rolled his eyes. “ _Malen'kiy_.” He resumed glaring icily at Sarek. “So for the thousandth time, I'm not Vulcan, you can take your stupid social standards and shove 'em, and leave me the hell alone!”

“You have told me that do not consider yourself Vulcan no more than eight times—”

“It's fucking hyperbole!” Leryk spat back. “And that's more than enough.”

Bryn sipped his tea without tasting it.

“—and it is you who have confronted me in every instance,” Sarek continued coolly. “I have not initiated any of these altercations you keep insisting on trying to have.”

“Bullshit,” Leryk snarled, showing teeth. “You keep badmouthing me when you know full well I can hear you.”

Sarek ever so slightly raised one eyebrow. “I have done no such thing.”

“Then what the everloving _fuck_ do you call it when you're sitting not three meters away from me telling your wife I shouldn't hold my boyfriend's hand?!” Leryk demanded. He reached behind him, grabbed the first thing that fell to hand which happened to be his watercup, and chucked it at the ambassador.

Sarek sidestepped the throw and leveled a restrainedly livid stare at Leryk. Bryn half tripped as he hurried to his feet and around the table. “Leryk,” he said, reaching for his partner's arm, “I think that's enou—”

“Don't  _touch_ me.” Leryk shoved Bryn away with enough force to send him stumbling back. He would have fallen had Chekov not caught him. The room had suddenly gone very quiet. The two stunned brunets were staring at Leryk. Leryk stared back. He took half a step toward Bryn. “I'm so sorry.”

Bryn stood carefully, murmured a quick 'thank you' to Chekov, and looked warily at his partner. “Let's go, Leryk. We need to talk.”

Leryk nodded and followed Bryn out.

 

The nearest empty room they found was some kind of conference room. Leryk sank shakily into a chair. Bryn paced.

“I'm so sorry,” Leryk said again.

It took a moment for Bryn to respond. “You don't ever lay hands on me.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I don't know what—”

“That's not what I—apology accepted, but that's not the point. You're always a hothead but this isn't like you.” He stopped pacing and leaned on the table in front of Leryk. “Look at me.”

Leryk looked up. He was flushed, pupils constricted to pinpricks.

Bryn dropped into the chair behind him, knuckles to his lips. “We need to take you back to sickbay.”

Leryk huffed and shook his head. “I'm alright, I'm just in a bad mood. You saw, I was eating just fine and I haven't taken any of those pills since this morning.”

“Please, Leryk, humor me,” Bryn entreated. “There's just one thing I want the doctor to check. A hunch. Just in case.”

“Fine,” Leryk agreed grudgingly.

 

They walked to sickbay in uncomfortable silence. McCoy eyed them warily once they were there. “Don't tell me you're worse,” he intoned flatly. “You don't look worse.”

“I'm better, actually.” Leryk shot a surly look at Bryn.

Bryn ignored him and stepped forward to ask the doctor. “Did you check his hormone levels?”

“Only in a cursory manner.” The doctor blinked. “Why?”

“Can you?” Bryn asked.

Leryk turned him by his shoulder. “Why?”

Bryn took a breath. “I'm pretty sure I remember when I last saw you sick like this,” he said quietly. “And it was right before the only other time you have ever been rough with me.”

Leryk let go of him and stepped back. “No.”

“It would explain so much,” Bryn said.

“No!” Leryk insisted. “There's no way. It's not time. No.”

McCoy cleared his throat. “Would either of you like to fill me in here?”

Leryk snapped “No,” at the same time Bryn said, “Ever heard of _p_ _on far_ _r_ _?_ ”

The doctor's eyes widened slowly. “Oh shit.”

“It  _can't_ be,” Leryk said, sounding more than a little panicked. “Not til next year.”

“It came early the first time, why couldn't it come back early too, huh?” Bryn challenged. “At least, let's have the doctor check. If I'm right then it's mystery solved and if I'm wrong we can breathe easy til next year, okay?” He glanced at McCoy. “You can check for that, can't you?”

The doctor nodded. “Sure can. Just takes a blood test.”

Leryk glanced back and forth between the two of them then made a wordless sound of frustration and started rolling up his sleeve. “Alright, fine, do the damn test.”

 

~*~

 

Kirk kept feeling like he should say something—dinner conversation had halted at his table after Spock had responded to his mother's usual pleasantries—but he couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't downright stupid, or anything to ask that Spock wouldn't resent him for, so he stayed quiet.

McCoy came in, grabbed a tray, and plopped himself in the empty chair to Kirk's other side. “Evening, Captain. Ambassador, Lady Amanda, Spock.”

“Good evening, Bones,” Kirk said, glad for an excuse to talk that also provided him with a subject. “Nice of you to join us. How are things in sickbay?”

“Well,” McCoy sighed and impaled a fried okra with his fork, “worked out that mystery that was bothering me this morning but I think the answer only caused more problems than the question.”

“Oh?” Kirk asked, feeling Spock's quirked brow without having to look. “What was it?”

Bones shot a furtive glance at Ambassador Sarek and shook his head. “Doesn't matter. I'll tell you later. Amanda, what is that you're eating? It smells like bell peppers but doesn't look a thing like 'em.”

From there, with McCoy at the table, conversation resumed, though Spock hardly spoke and Sarek said even less. They'd almost finished their meal when Leryk and Bryn came into the Mess talking—it looked like arguing—in low voices. Kirk watched an entire silent conversation pass between Spock and Amanda before the boys had passed the table to get their food.

“Perhaps we ought to go,” Amanda suggested.

Sarek studied her placidly. “You haven't finished your food.”

“I think it would be better for your heart if we left now,” Amanda said, a hint of insistence creeping into her tone.

Sarek poured himself another drink. “My heart is functioning quite well, my wife. Credit to Dr. McCoy's surgical skills, of course.”

Bones acknowledged the praise with a nod, but his eyes were tracking Leryk. The young pair were carrying trays now, headed to the farthest table, still arguing quietly.

“You know damn well that's not an option.”

“It's my body, I ought to be able to decide.”

“I mean, sure, you can _decide_ to not eat, too, but you will literally die if you stick to either of those decisions, and I kinda prefer you alive.”

Amanda took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Kirk looked to McCoy, who was still watching Leryk, then to Spock, who shook his head infinitesimally. Meanwhile, the bickering continued.

“Maybe I'd rather die.”

“Don't be dramatic,” Bryn snapped. “That's the hormones talking and you know it. I really am sorry you're going through this, and I hate that it's managed to sneak up on us again, but at least this time we know what it is.”

Leryk shook his head. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“I've been through this with you before!”

“But you've never been the one actually going through _pon farr_.” Leryk slammed one fist on the table, making trays and cutlery rattle. The one ensign sitting at the other end of the same table quickly gathered her things and changed seats. Leryk grabbed his spoon and started shoveling oatmeal angrily into his mouth.

The ambassador stood up,

“Sarek, don't,” Amanda pleaded, but he acted as though he hadn't heard.

As Sarek approached their table, Leryk brandished his spoon at him. “Whatever condescending ass shit you have to say, you fossilized prick, I don't want to hear it. Go away.”

“I merely came to suggest that your conversation is one better had in private.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Bryn said tightly, “now really isn't a good time.”

Amanda had gotten to her feet. “Sarek, come sit back down, please.”

Leryk grit his teeth, knuckles white around his spoon. “I'm trying to maintain just a tiny bit of normalcy here, for my own sanity, so for fuck's sake leave me alone.”

“It is illogical to go about in public, taxing your controls, when they are evidently already quite weak, and it is highly inappropriate to discuss such matters as you were discussing in public,” Sarek said. “You should have remained in your quarters.”

Leryk pressed his spoon so hard against the table that it bent. “You,” he hissed, “do not get to tell me what I should do, you,” he broke off into what Kirk was positive was a long string of Vulcan curses. “And _fuck you_!” he shouted, standing. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave me the fuck alone?! Don't you get it? I hate you, I hate everything you stand for, your whole damn planet, your whole damn species!” His voice cracked. “More than anything else I hate the part of me that's like you. I hate what it does to me, what it's doing to me right now.”

Spock stood carefully. “Leryk, perhaps—”

“You shut up, too,” Leryk snapped. “Don't you dare look at me like that, like you're better than me just because you won't fucking let on that you're just about snotting your pants every damn day. I can smell it.” He made a face of disgust then turned his attention back to Sarek.“I don't give a fuck about your puritanical shame, I will bitch about _pon farr_ whenever I want to whoever I want. In fact,” he stepped up onto his chair, Bryn watching in horror while most of the room looked on in morbid fascination, “hey, everybody! Guess what? Vulcans are all angry horny slaves to their base instincts! Every single one of them, because every few years every Vulcan in the whole universe has to have sex. They have to have sex, or they die! And I'll die too, because my stupid whore mother is a green blooded bitch, just like the ambassador here.” He stepped up onto the table, walked across it, and jumped down right in front of Sarek, who'd gone a bit pale. “I have no choice but to have sex. Do you know what that's called? It's rape. _Pon farr_ is self-rape.” He shook off Bryn's hand at his elbow and stepped even closer to Sarek. “Worst thing is I have no choice but force someone else, someone I love, into it along with me. And you think that's all normal and fine and I should shut up, be a good boy and be quiet and not complain, not make anyone else have to think about the fact that _I have to rape myself or I will die_ , because it might make them uncomfortable. Fuck you.”

He spat in Sarek's face and strode out.

Bryn was standing quietly by his chair, silent angry tears rolling down his face. He shook his head slowly, staring at Sarek. “What part of 'go away' do you not understand?”

He followed Leryk out, leaving their dinners unfinished and abandoned.

Sarek wiped his face with his sleeve.

Kirk got deliberately to his feet. “Ambassador, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you confine yourself to your quarters until further notice, effective immediately. Ensign Garrovick, would you please escort the ambassador?”

Garrovick nodded and escorted Sarek out. Amanda went with them, radiating a silent anger Kirk did not want to witness unleashed. He took a breath. “McCoy, please send a nurse to check on Leryk and Bryn, but tell him or her to only ring once. I don't think it would be wise to push it right now. Then, Spock, Bones, my ready room. A word.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Nurse Chapel rounded the corner to the guest quarters on Deck 6 and stopped. Bryn was leaning with his forehead flat against the door to his quarters, eyes closed, pleading, “Leryk, please just let me in. I know you can hear me. Please, Love….”

She approached cautiously, making sure to step heavily so as not to startle him. He turned his head without leaning away from the door so he wound up rolling his face against it, opened his eyes, and looked at her miserably. “He locked me out.”

“I can see that,” she said gently. “Dr. McCoy sent me to check on you. Are you alright?”

“That's kind of a stupid question.” Bryn turned to lean his back on the door instead and slid down it.

“I guess it is, isn't it.” Nurse Chapel let out a breath and sat with him on the corridor floor, carefully tucking her legs under herself. “Can I do anything to help?”

Bryn shook his head.

She chewed her lip. “Did you finish you dinner? I could bring you something to eat.”

“I'm not hungry.”

She doubted that—McCoy had told her neither he nor Leryk had eaten much before all hell had broken loose in the Mess Hall—but she let it slide. “Well,” she stood up again and stepped toward the opposite wall, “at least let me show you how to work the intercom, then if you need something later you can page sickbay and we'll bring it to you, rather than you having to go anywhere.”

Reluctantly, Bryn nodded, “Okay.”

 

~*~

 

Kirk steepled his fingers and slowly paced the length of his ready room, trying to formulate his next words to his First Officer and his CMO. He shook his head. “This is obviously a delicate situation, and one that seems to be doing its best to implode spectacularly.”

“That's one way to put it,” McCoy muttered.

“Captain,” Spock said, hands clasped at the small of his back, his face an even more carefully neutral mask than usual, “is it entirely necessary I be a part of this conversation?”

“I'm afraid so, Spock,” Kirk said. “And I'm sorry, I know this must be uncomfortable for you, for a number of reasons.” He held up a hand to stave off whatever response Spock had just inhaled to give. “Don't bother denying it, you're caught in a prickly position, I dare say some degree of discomfort might even be logical.” He took a breath and looked to McCoy. “I presume Leryk's _pon farr_ is the answer to your mystery you were hinting at earlier?”

“Yup,” McCoy sighed.

Something twitched in Spock's expression. “ _Pon farr_ does not cause vomiting, Doctor.”

“In anyone else, no,” Bones agreed, “but best I can tell, Leryk's allergic to his own hormones, the poor soul. Not all of 'em, thankfully, but for sure at least one of the three what're spiking right now. In addition to the, uh, usual unpleasantness of the condition, his body thinks it's being poisoned. 'Cause it kinda is.”

Kirk rubbed at his neck. “Given his present state, I don't think Leryk can be held accountable for his recent words and actions.”

“He really can't,” Bones said.

Spock inclined his head. “I must agree.”

McCoy looked momentarily startled, then he schooled his expression and crossed his arms.

“I can only conclude, then,” Kirk said, moving to lean on his hands on the table, “that any blame for this evening's altercation belongs entirely with Ambassador Sarek. I watched him ignore several warnings and requests to disengage.”

“I have no logical explanation for my father's behavior,” Spock said.

“Neither do I.” Kirk shook his head. “This conflict has only been escalating, and it's reaching a point that could quickly turn dangerous, not only for our guests but for our crew. Despite outward appearances, Sarek is the aggressor, which I feel uneasy about allowing to go without rebuke, but I'm really not sure that I have the authority to tell off an Ambassador.”

“He's on your ship!” Bones declared. “And he's being a bully. Someone needs to knock him down a down a peg.”

“I do not think Ambassador Sarek would respond well to being 'knocked down a peg,' as you say, by the Captain,” Spock said evenly. “While I do agree that a certain correction to his behavior is in order, I expect my mother is currently in the process of delivering such. I would suggest merely mentioning to him that you would appreciate it if he took measures to avoid such altercations on your ship in future, and that you wait until tomorrow to do so.”

“I think you're right Spock,” Kirk said, nodding mostly to himself.

McCoy huffed. “This is ridiculous.” He made for the door. “If anyone needs me, I'll be in sickbay with a stack of lab reports and a drink.”

Kirk and Spock watched the door close behind him.

“He may have the right idea,” Kirk said, going for the liquor cabinet in the corner. “Would you care for a drink, Spock?”

His First Officer considered him a moment, then something loosened almost imperceptibly in the line of his shoulders. “Thank you, Captain, I would.”

Kirk poured drinks for each of them, gave one to Spock, lifted his own glass in a weary half-toast, and drank almost a third of it in one gulp before sinking into a chair. He swirled the reddish-amber liquor, watching it cling weakly to the side of the glass. “I keep thinking about everything Leryk was saying at dinner, and I can't help but think he kind of has a point.”

“Leryk said many things at dinner, Jim,” Spock noted, still standing, his glass held a centimeter from his lips.

“I meant what he said about _pon farr_ being akin to self-rape,” Kirk said heavily. “Won't you sit, Spock?”

He took the chair across from Kirk and carefully set down his drink. “I have never thought of it in such terms,” Spock said with measured words, “but I can see how one could reasonably arrive at such a perspective.”

Kirk nodded slowly. They each drank. Kirk fiddled with his glass. “Also,” he shook his head, brow crinkled, “what he said about 'snotting your pants'—does that mean what I think it means?”

Spock eyed him frostily. “I neither am familiar with the phrase, nor have any inkling what you estimate its meaning to be.”

“Right, of course,” Kirk said quickly. “I'm sorry for asking.”

Spock dipped his head in acknowledgement.

Both their glasses sat empty on the table before either of them spoke again. It was Kirk, suddenly asking, “Has anyone ever told you, you look like your mother?” before he could stop himself.

Spock blinked placidly at him with what passed for near astonishment. “No.”

“You do,” Kirk said. “Mostly around the eyes.”

“I think she would like to hear that,” Spock said mildly. Kirk hoped he didn't imagine that his tone was warm.

 

~*~

 

“Then by all means, Sarek,” Amanda said acidly, “explain to me the logical reasons why you deemed it appropriate and necessary to ignore the warnings of the object of your scrutiny, his mate, and your wife to leave that boy alone, and proceededto goad him when you are well aware that he wants nothing to do with you and is in a sensitive state. Please, oh, my husband, enlighten me.”

Sarek took an even breath. “You know that there are matters we do not discuss in the hearing of Outworlders.”

“He's not _us_.” Amanda rubbed her temple. “And it is his to discuss, Sarek. It's his life, his experience. If Vulcans as a people don't want others to know about and talk about these things, then Vulcans shouldn't interact with other peoples, and certainly should never have children with them.”

“He should respect his heritage and its standards of priva—”

“His  _heritage_ never respected him,” Amanda snapped. “Bryn told me how Leryk's Vulcan family treated him—it's a disgrace, and it ought to be a crime. On Earth it _is_ a crime. He is essentially human, Sarek. You can see it in the curve of his brows and the set of his teeth when he smiles, setting aside that he smiles at all—that he laughs and cries and feels freely. The Captain said outright that those boys are guests on this ship, just like us. You have no authority over him, yet you insist on continuing to try to make him act like you think he ought to, being half Vulcan. He's not yours to dictate to, Sarek. He's not Spock.”

Sarek bristled, subtly but distinctly. “I know he is not Spock.”

“Do you?” Amanda challenged. “You're not acting like it. You'r ebeing controlling, excessively so, exactly like you were—or tried to be—with Spock when he was young and wanting to join Starfleet. You never have let that go and you're _bitter_ that you didn't get your way, bitter that your son chose a path for himself that is different from the path you planned for him, bitter that in defying you he has excelled, and bitter that at times like this, when you and I are merely guests aboard the ship to which he is second in command _he_ has authority over _you_. You can't take it out on Spock because he's a grown man and an officer, a representative of Starfleet, and there are politics beyond our family to consider, so instead you're taking it out on this young man who has already endured more emotional and psychological abuse than anyone should have to.”

“My past attitude toward Spock's joining Starfleet has no impact on the matter at hand,” Sarek said, tone clipped.

“Do not lie to me, S'chn T'gai Sarek,” Amanda said, voice low.

“I am not _lying_ ,” Sarek objected coolly.

“Alright, fine.” Amanda crossed her arms. “Your _past_ attitude has no impact, but your current attitude does, and the fact is your attitude hasn't changed in any way worth mentioning. You're prevaricating, twisting your words to sound like you mean things you know aren't true. I don't see how that's any different from lying.”

Her husband looked away from her. She stepped toward him.“I won't make you admit out loud that your behavior towards that boy has been emotionally motived and illogical, but we both know it's true, and you will not lie to me.”

Sarek folded his hands and tucked his chin to his chest. Tense silence stretched between them. He exhaled, then inhaled again. “I need rest, Amanda.”

“I'm sure you do,” she said shortly. “Rest. Meditate. Sleep. Think about how you've been acting and why and what you're going to do to make up for it.” She moved to the door. She paused, her hand on the control pad. “I don't expect I'll return to these quarters tonight.” With that, she saw herself out.

 

Amanda walked. She walked until she found her feet had taken her to the door of the ship's botanical garden. She looked around—the corridor was empty. It was fairly late in the evening, ship's time, now. She hadn't passed many crew on her way here, and what few she had passed quickly got out of her way. Most of them were young enough that she probably reminded them of their own mothers and their instincts told them it was best not to draw her attention right then. But now she was here and honestly unsure if she was allowed to be, without her son to escort her. She shrugged to herself and lay her hand on the door's control pad. It slid open easily and she stepped into the warm, heavily perfumed air. She took a deep breath as she began a circuit of the garden.

The only other person there was a Makusean junior science officer who would have stood at least a head taller than even Spock. The girl glanced over from meticulously deadheading a yellow-blooming vine that was trained up a trellis near the ceiling. Her short uniform dress had been modified with a hood that hid her hair. She bowed low to Amanda, who returned the gesture, then quietly resumed her work.

After making slow loops through several rooms of the garden and letting the plants calm her, Amanda came back to the atrium where the hooded girl had moved on to carefully pruning a small, scraggly, purple-fruiting bush. Her eyes flicked to Amanda, then back to the bush.

“You are Commander Spock's mother, are you not?” she asked in a gently lilting accent.

“I am,” Amanda answered softly.

“Your son is a good man,” the girl said casually. “He has taught me much, and saved my life more than once. You and your husband I hope are proud of him. Or, only you.” She flashed a smile that managed to be both razor sharp teeth and sunshine. “I do not know, is it an emotion to be proud?”

“I'm very proud of him,” Amanda assured her, “and his father knows the caliber of work he does.”

“Good,” the girl said, then said no more.

Amanda let out a breath, then went to meander her way back toward the upper decks, taking a different route than the one she had taken down. She stepped out of the turbolift on Deck 6 at the opposite end from where her and Sarek's quarters were, turned a corner, and spotted Bryn sitting on the floor against a closed door, hugging his knees, face buried in his arms, one finger tapping an erratic rhythm against his elbow.

“Bryn?” she called, quietly concerned.

He looked up. She went to him and lowered herself to the floor next to him. “Did he lock you out?”

Bryn nodded. “I've been out here since we left dinner,” he said horsely. His eyes were red. “I tried banging on the door, I tried bribing, I tried begging. He won't let me in. I don't think he's asleep but….” He shook his head. “I'd rather just, just get it over with but I'm starting to worry he meant what he said about he'd rather—rather….”

“I'm sure he didn't,” Amanda said quickly. She hesitated, decades of culturalization telling her to fight the instinct to put her arms around him, but he was human, so she let instinct win and pulled him to her. He clung to her, arms around her waist. She leaned her cheek against his hair. “Today was...difficult. Let him have some time to deal with it, be there for him when he needs you.”

Bryn took a deep, rough breath, nodded, and awkwardly disengaged himself from her. He scrubbed at his eyes. “I'm sorry, I just—”

“You don't have anything to apologize for, Bryn.” She looked him over. He was pale and he looked exhausted. She frowned at him. “Did you ever get the rest of your dinner?”

He looked away and mumbled, “Nurse Chapel came and forced a cookie on me about an hour ago because I hadn't paged anyone to bring me food.”

“Bryn,” she said with gentle sternness and a meaningful glance at the door behind them, “you're going to need your strength up.”

“I really don't feel like eating.”

She frowned. “What about just some tea?”

“I don't know,” he breathed as his gaze drifted to the door.

“It won't do you or him any good to starve yourself,” she said gently, “and if he hasn't let you in thesepast few hours, I doubt you'll miss anything stepping away long enough to have some tea and a bite to eat. Give him space to breathe, give yourself a break. What good are you doing either of you sitting out here?”

“None,” he admitted quietly.

Amanda nodded, got to her feet, and held out a hand to Bryn. “Let's see if we can't find a quiet bulkhead somewhere with a synthesizer, shall we?”

He looked up at her, took a breath, and took her hand.

 

They wound up in that same observation lounge, at the same table by the window, a pot of tea and a plate of pastries between them. Bryn's foot was bouncing against the leg of his chair as he nibbled at the corner of a fruit tart. Amanda nodded towards his tapping toes. “You seem agitated,” she noted, “and not just upset. You do share a link with him, don't you?”

Bryn paused mid bite to blink at her. “Link?”

“Vulcans form telepathic links with their partners,” she explained mildly over her teacup. “That link tends to be, how to put this,  _particularly apparent_ at times like these.” She set down her tea, realization dawning. “You really don't know much about what's happening, do you?”

He shook his head. “We don't. He left Vulcan so young, he wasn't told much, so really all we know is how things were last time and what tiny little bits I've found in books. Far as I can tell, nobody bothers to write this crap down. As for a link, I don't know, maybe? I haven't noticed, but we've always been close, and his telepathic abilities are really weak, so maybe I wouldn't notice.” He crammed the rest of the tart into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed tightly then dropped his face into his hands. “I don't want to do this again.” He looked up at her, eyes searching for...something. “I  _will_ , I have to, I'd definitely rather do it than lose him, I just...don't….”

She waited for him to finish his thought. When he didn't, she asked, “Last time was bad, wasn't it?”

“Neither of us knew what was happening to him!” Bryn shoved his chair back so hard it fell over as he stood to pace. “He was sicker than I'd ever seen him, then he was super pissy, I mean scary pissy, and he wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't eat. I was scared for him. I read everything I could find to try to figure out what was wrong but I was so sure that his body had finally given up trying to make the whole mutt thing work, that he was dying. And I couldn't do anything because he wouldn't let me see him, he wouldn't leave his room, and the one doctor in our little middle of bum-fuck nowhere frontier town was useless with anyone not entirely human. It wasn't until I thought he was asleep and I picked the lock on his door to bring him some food and he grabbed me and was—I don't know how to explain, like, inhaling me? It would have been hot if it wasn't so damn unnerving—and he said he _needed_ me. But he didn't really say it, it was this desperate not-quite growl that I'd never heard and it broke my heart. That was when something clicked in my brain with the _one line_ I'd read that said something about _pon farr_ and Vulcans being like ferrets, that they'll die if they don't mate in time.”

He kicked his chair back onto its feet. “I was right, he was dying. But I could save him. He was my best friend and I'd fancied him since I don't know when and I could save him. So I told him okay. I let him.” Bryn dropped into his chair, still oddly far from from the table. “I'd never had sex before. I'd thought about it, of course, vaguely hoped it might be with him, but not like that. That, that wasn't him. In his eyes, it was just….” Bryn shook his head. “And he's so strong, and there wasn't enough of _him_ there to remember to be careful. I was so sore when I woke up—sore in places I didn't know could be sore—and I looked like hell. He'd woken up before me. He was curled up in a ball at the other end of the room, staring at floor. He didn't remember that I'd told him yes. He didn't remember that I'd consented. He thought he'd raped me. Even now, more than half a decade later, he won't tell me how long he was awake before me. I don't know how long he lived with that thought. It took a lot to convince him that it was okay, I didn't hate him, I had volunteered. The fact that I couldn't really stand sure didn't help.” Bryn took a breath. “So, yeah, last time was bad. Last time was very bad.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He snorted, scootted his chair closer to table, grabbed another pastry, and bit a large chunk out of it. “It's been better since then,” he said through a full mouth. “Took about a year but we worked out how to have a normal, intimate relationship with each other.” He washed down the pastry with tea. “I don't know what this is gonna do to us, though. What it's gonna do to him.”

Amanda looked down. “I don't know either, but this time you're better prepared, you know what's happening, and he knows you're there for him of your own free will. You've made that very clear. I suspect that alone will make quite the difference.” She wrapped her hands around her tea. “At risk of sharing too much, I can tell you that it becomes routine. Never exactly pleasant, always a bit of a chore—which I don't think is how sex ever ought to be but is more or less the Vulcan attitude toward it in any context. But not always like this.”

Bryn exhaled slowly, got up again, and went to lean his forehead on the window, staring out at the stars. “I really, _really_ hope you're right.”


	8. Chapter 8

Leryk rolled over to the very edge of the mattress. He hadn't slept, not really. He couldn't settle. Every time he closed his eyes he was assaulted by the pounding of his own heartbeat against his flank and a burning like an itch in his bones that only got worse the longer he was still. And he was freezing despite how high he'd set the room controls. He hated it.

He lifted his eyes to the chronometer, groaned, and gave up. Still shrugging into his coat, he made for the door and nearly ran smack into Bryn as it opened. Leryk scrambled back several steps and tried to remember how to breathe in the face of his mate's wide-eyed surprise. His boyfriend's. Fuck.

“Leryk,” Bryn said softly and reached for him.

“No,” Leryk snapped, taking another hasty step back out of reach. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, fingers digging into his ribs through his coat in a feeble and feckless attempt to calm his pulse. He looked down to not see the hurt that flashed across Bryn's face, shook his head, and took a breath that shook a lot more than he wanted it to. “I can't. I need to—” he shook his head again “—I don't know, just, go, do _something_. I need to move.”

Bryn frowned and took a cautious step into their quarters, letting the door slide closed behind him.

Leryk held up his hands in a warding gesture and hissed, “Don't touch me.”

“I'm not going to,” Bryn promised gently. His eyes were dark with a heavy mix of emotion Leryk couldn't name. “We can can make this stop, though. You know that. We just have to—”

Leryk shook his head emphatically. “I can't.” He took a breath and he could taste Bryn on the air, which sent a lightning bolt stab through his belly. He crammed his hands into his pockets against the urge to reach out. “I can't. If I'm still any kind of with it, I can't. Now I'm gonna go and, I don't know, find something I'm allowed to break.”

Bryn gave a small nod and stepped to the side, away from the door. His eyes followed Leryk as he strode out.

 

Leryk actually stopped a red-shirted crewmember in the corridor to ask if there was anything he could break, was told no, but that there was a bowling ally he could try tucked in past the sternward turbolift before the crewman more or less fled the conversation. Bowling would have to do.

There were three ensigns playing a round at the lane closest to the door. Leryk had a strong urge to pick a fight—he didn't want them there—but he knew that was unreasonable, they had every right to be there, more than he did really, so hestalked past them to the farthest lane and poked aggressively at the control panel until the pins set themselves and balls appeared in the return shoot. He didn't need four balls, but that's what he had now, so whatever. He grabbed one of them and essentially threw it down the lane to crash haphazardly into the pins with a satisfying but short-lived clatter.

The ensigns quickly finished up their game and, with not-so-furtive looks his direction, excused themselves.

Leryk soon found that he didn't have anywhere near enough patience right now to wait for pins to reset, so he punched at the controls of all six lanes and went from one to the next, smashing down one set of pins while the previous set reset.

The door to the ally hissed open and he turned to glare daggers at whoever dared intrude on him, scraping his hair up into a bun as he did. It was Commander Spock, stoic as ever.

“What do you want?” Leryk snarled through teeth clenched around his hairtie.

One of Spock's eyebrows ticked up. “The Captain has requested that neither you nor Ambassador Sarek be allowed to wander the ship unattended by a Starfleet officer. Ensign Chekov volunteered to mind you, but I intervened as I expect you would not presently appreciate his propensity to be what Dr. McCoy calls a 'chatterbox.'”

Leryk snapped his hairtie around his bun, snatched up the green and yellow marbled thirteen-pound ball, and chucked it down the lane. “Go fuck your Captain.”

“That would be highly inappropriate, and against regulation,” Spock intoned mildly behind him.

“It's idiomatic, you volitionally pedantic walnut.” Leryk shot a stormy scowl at the First Officer. “If you wanna take it literally, _go_ , take it very literally. Get your rocks off and leave me alone.”

Spock stared at him chillily. Leryk huffed, shed his coat, and dumped it on the floor. He was too warm. He gave the coat a kick for good measure, grabbed another bowling ball, and stalked to the next lane.

“Why are you prolonging your discomfort given that your mate is readily available?” Spock asked after a while, sounding genuinely, if mildly, curious.

Leryk pivoted on his heel and crossed his arms. “Because I don't want to hurt him, but I know I'm going to hurt him, and there's nothing I can do to stop it but I can't stand to do it.”

“Your reasoning is valid,” Spock acquiesced. Something private had darkened his eyes but Leryk didn't care what it was.

“This isn't a courtroom argument, for fuck's sake,” Leryk snapped. He sucked in a sharp breath and shrugged. “I know I'll get to a point where most of my brain statics out and it doesn't matter what I want, my body'll do what it needs regardless.”

“You speak of _plak tow,_ ” Spock said with a hint of hesitation.

Leryk bristled. “Sure. I don't really care what it's called. I just know it'll happen. Until then I can't and I just wanna fight everything.”

Spock's head tilted a couple degrees to the left. “You are remarkably composed given your present condition.”

“Get fucked,” Leryk sneered, turning away, then turned back quickly. “Honestly, how the fuck are you not dead?”

Both of Spock's eyebrows raised this time. “I do not understand the nature of your query.”

Leryk gave a roar of frustration and actually did throw a bowling ball down the next lane. It bounced once, hopped the gutter, and got itself stuck between two pin areas. “Can you not talk like a computer?” Leryk demanded as he went to free his ball. “You're enough older than me that you must have gone through this I'd guess twice? Maybe three times?”

“Once,” Spock corrected with a faint air of unease that just pissed Leryk off more, if that was even possible. “Mine was...rather late.”

“Get over your stupid puritanical hang ups and get the stick out of your ass,” Leryk griped as he trudged back up between the gutters, cradling the wayward ball. “There's no one else here, I'm literally a raging ball of sex hormones, and you're a goddamn adult. Guess I'm glad _pon farr_ gets fucked up by being a mutt in general, it's not just me,” he muttered. He bowled again and actually hit the pins.

“So you've gone through this,” he continued, grabbing his next victim from the nearest ball return. “It's painfully obvious you've got a massive crush on your precious Captain—”

“You are mistaken.”

“You're in denial.” Leryk laughed coldly. “Mild telepathic abilities, plus not being an emotionally illiterate dunderhead means I'm very good at reading people. Also, did I mention I can smell it? 'Cause I can smell it. Pheromones are a bitch. Trust me, your daddy knows too and you're lucky most of the crew is human.” He saw Spock's shoulders stiffen and something harden about the set of his jaw and Leryk found himself profoundly pleased to be getting to the halfbreed golden boy. That was mean. He didn't care. He dropped the ball back onto the return and stepped toward Spock. “He's into you, too. Looks at you like you shit rainbows when he thinks you're not looking. But it's also obvious the two of you aren't together. So how the everliving _fuck_ did you get through _pon farr_ without jumping him? I can't imagine you've got another partner hidden away somewhere.”

Spock took a deliberate, even breath. “ _Plak tow_ , and therefore  _pon farr_ , can be resolved either by mating or through lethal combat. The adrenal rush associated with taking a life has a sufficiently similar effect of the system as mating.”

Leryk felt his eyes widen. “You killed someone?”

“I believed I had, but it was a medically induced psudo-death intended to satisfy the biological impetus.” Spock paused. “It would not have worked if I had known of the deceit beforehand.”

“How  _Romeo and Juliet_.” Leryk snorted. “The Captain was the fake victim, wasn't he?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” With a huff, Leryk flopped onto the cool smooth floor of the ally. “Why,” he wailed at the ceiling, “am I too warm?! I'm always cold! I was _freezing_ a minute ago.”

“ _Plak tow_ is accompanied by fever,” Spock noted, “and endocrine imbalances can otherwise cause difficulty maintaining homeostasis.”

From the floor Leryk glared frostily at Spock. “I have no fucking clue what that wafflebrain sees in you.”

 

~*~

 

“There's a lot of interference from the storm and signals are thready at best,” Uhura said, standing across from Kirk in his ready room near the end of Alpha shift, “but I have gotten word from Hawking seven. The ion storm is causing delays for many of the delegates, and we seem to be the only ship that's elected to go through the storm rather than circumnavigate it, so we may well be the first to arrive of those not already at the planet. In light of this, the organizers of the summit are pushing back the proceedings until all the delegates have arrived safely.”

“Very good,” Kirk said. “Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda should be told this as well.”

“I tried to inform them earlier, sir, but neither of them were available.” She folded her hands neatly over the PADD she was carrying. “According to Yeoman Pritchard, Amanda asked her for access to alternate accommodations early this morning. Lt. Ayani from biology spoke with her in the botanical gardens shortly before twenty-three-hundred hours. Several people saw her and Bryn walking together well after midnight. By all accounts, she was up all night. I believe she was still asleep when I tried to to get ahold of her. As for Ambassador Sarek….” Uhura took a breath, let it out, and shrugged. “No one's seen hide nor hair of him since dinner yesterday. My culturally sensitive guess is that he's cloistered himself in meditation to process his most recent altercation with Leryk, but I'd almost be tempted to think he's sulking if I didn't know that Vulcans unequivocally do not sulk.”

Kirk couldn't quite help the hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Of course Vulcans don't sulk, especially not when they've been dressed down publicly by interplanetary hobos then, probably, privately by their wives. I can't fathom how you'd even get such a notion in your head, Lieutenant.”

She returned his grin, then her expression sobered. “Can I ask you something, sir? Off the record, as a friend?”

Somewhat taken aback by her concerned tone, Kirk leaned forward on his elbows on the tabletop. “Of course, Nyota. What is it?”

“Have you had a chance to speak with Mr. Spock since his stint supervising Leryk?”

“I have not,” Kirk answered. “Why?”

“When he returned to the bridge—”

“Which was after Yeoman Rand had dragged me away to do a mountain of paperwork,” Kirk noted wryly.

“Yes,” Uhura agreed with a touch of laughter, “it was. I had the con for all of ten minutes.” Her smile disappeared again. “When he returned to the bridge, he seemed a bit off. Distracted, maybe? You know he's the very definition of stoic, it's so hard to to be sure what's going on in his head, but those of us that know him, we can tell, can't we? At least a little?”

“I think we can, yes,” Kirk agreed softly. He looked down at his fingers.

“It makes sense to me, that with everything going on right now with his parents, he'd be troubled. I think it would be good for someone to talk to him, just to make sure he's actually okay.” She gave a sad, lopsided smile and half a shrug. “I don't think I'm close enough to him that my saying anything to him would be welcome. The only people on the ship, possibly in the universe, that are close to him like that are you, his mother, Dr. McCoy, and maybe Chekov. His mother is a bit preoccupied, McCoy's usual tact—or lack thereof—seems ill-suited, and Chekov can be...shall we say, obtuse?”

“That's certainly one way to put it.”

Before either of them could say anything else, the door chirped with requested entry.

Kirk straightened up in his chair. “Come in.”

The door slid open to admit Spock. Uhura grinned. “Speak of the devil and the devil shall come,” she said warmly, completely ignoring the imperiously raised eyebrow the comment earned her. “Good to see you, Mr. Spock.”

“Lieutenant,” Kirk chided playfully, “everyone knows the devil is red not olive, despite Dr. McCoy's frequent commentary.”

“That depends greatly on cultural context, Captain,” Uhura shot back brightly.

“Indeed,” Spock said slowly. “My apologies if I'm interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Kirk assured him. “The Lieutenant was just updating me on the storm's affect on the summit and we somehow stumbled onto the subject of how much of an adventure things always seem to turn into whenever we've got your family aboard.”

“I see.” Spock folded his hands behind his back. “Concerning the storm: Lieutenant, the adjustments you requested have been completed. Communications should be improved.”

“Ah, wonderful.” Uhura smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Spock. I'll go have a look at that. Then, Dr. Mulhall's wanting to borrow me down in astrobiology. She's got her hands on some research notes from a professor at Universidade Zambeze and can you believe I'm the only one on this whole ship who speaks a word of Swahili?”

“Blame the Academy for not offering it as a folang,” Kirk said. “Good luck with the translation, Lieutenant.”

She nodded her acknowledgement and stepped out, shooting a meaningful look over her shoulder at the Captain just before the door closed.

Kirk looked up at Spock. “Were you just swinging by to update Uhura, or do you have some business with me, too, Mr. Spock?”

“Mr. Sulu estimates we will arrive at Hawking Seven in roughly another two days,” Spock answered promptly.

“Very good.” Kirk stood and wandered casually to the synthesizer set into the wall near the liquor cabinet. “I feel like coffee. How about you? Would you like anything—tea, maybe?”

“I require no refreshment at this time, thank you, Captain.”

“Good, good.” Kirk punched in his coffee. “How was your babysitting detail, Mr. Spock?”

Kirk could hear Spock's arched eyebrow in the beat of silence before the First Officer asked, “Babysitting, Captain?”

“Leryk,” Kirk clarified, turning back, coffee in hand. “How's Leryk?”

“Combative, abrasive,” Spock said analytically, “possessed of a great deal of restless energy, prone to language I believe most humans would find deeply offensive.”

“You're not offended, of course,” Kirk said into his mug.

Spock's  _other_ eyebrow arched. “There is no offense where none is meant.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion he does, in fact, mean to offend.”

“Perhaps,” Spock conceded. “Nonetheless, it would be illogical to allow oneself to be much affected by his words, as he is not in full control of himself at this time. I do not believe it is wholly accurate to describe any of his actions as intentional at present.”

Kirk walked around to Spock's side of the table and sat on the edge of it, one foot propped up on a chair, coffee perched on his knee. “There's an old Terran axiom, Mr. Spock, that drunk words are sober thoughts. The idea being that when someone's filter is down, they may be saying things they wouldn't ordinarily voice, but it's still their thoughts and their words, not random thoughts drawn from nowhere, so it would be unwise to dismiss them out of hand. I think the same sentiment may apply here. Much of what he said yesterday at dinner was astute, if harsh.”

Spock let out a breath that was not a sigh. “Your point is valid.”

“I know.” Kirk sipped his coffee and studied his friend. Uhura was definitely right. “Did he say anything of particular interest today? You seem like you have something on your mind.”

Spock's gaze wandered across the wall behind Kirk. “Other than inquiring after my own experience, no.”

“Ah. I'm sure that wasn't the most comfortable conversation you've ever had.”

“Nor was it the least,” Spock said.

“Well, that's good I guess.” Kirk set his mug aside with a quiet _tack_. A moment of silence passed between them. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business if this is too invasive,” Kirk began, choosing his words carefully but making himself speak before he could mentally talk himself out of it, “but what are you going to do, Spock—what is it, five?—years from now? The next time.”

Spock met Kirk's gaze. “I do not know. My options, and therefore my actions, may vary greatly depending on what my next assignment is.”

“Yes, naturally. That makes sense,” Kirk said, looking away. “I've just been thinking, prompted by this whole matter with Leryk and Bryn, that there's a kind of inevitability to _pon farr_ that human men simply don't have to contend with.” He shrugged. “It seems unlikely you'd be able to pull off another Houdini act. Frankly, in hindsight, I can hardly believe the one you _did_ pull off worked.”

“That 'Houdini act,' as you call it, was your and Dr. McCoy's doing, not my own.” He took a step toward Kirk. “I am grateful for it, as no other potential outcome of that situation was favorable, although I do find it disquieting the degree of danger you were prepared to put yourself in, will little to no guarantee that your plan would, indeed, work, given your greater objective value to this ship, its mission, and its crew.”

Kirk turned a smile on his First Officer. “Subjectively—and I believe objectively as well—I couldn't afford to lose you. In any case,” he shrugged, “this is what we do, Spock, you and I. We get into impossible situations and we get each other out, whatever it takes. It's how we—all of us, the whole Enterprise—have made it through these past four years more or less intact.”

“That is not incorrect,” Spock said thoughtfully. “In five years' time, however, it is entirely likely I will be married.”

It took Kirk's brain a moment to follow the sudden hop back in subject, then another moment to process what Spock had actually said. He hid the delay, and his surprise and dismay at the words, in a long sip of coffee. “I guess that's true.”

“It is possible that you, too, will be married by then.”

Kirk gave a short, harsh laugh. “Unlikely.”

Spock gave his Captain an appraising look. “You are quite adept at establishing the kind of rapport that can lead—”

“No, Spock.” Kirk shook his head indulgently. “I'm good at scoring myself one night stands, and the occasional week-long fling. I've had a grand total of four relationships that ultimately meant anything, none of which ended well.” He sighed. “I had a girl tell me once that I'm the most dangerous kind of man for a woman's heart—the kind who can and will fall genuinely in love every night and fall right back out of it in the morning. I'm pretty sure the fact that those words still sting is a good indicator that she was right.”

Something like a smile lit the First Officer's eyes. “Perhaps she meant that you would do better to focus your pursuits on potential partners who are not female.”

“Perhaps,” Kirk agreed ruefully. “If I ever do get married, I expect you'll be at the wedding.”

“I would prefer that.”

Quiet settled over them again, Kirk trying and failing to find his next words. Once the silence had dragged on passed the point of qualifying as a pause, Spock gave a small nod and turned toward the door.

“Spock, wait,” Kirk said quickly. He hopped down from the table, abandoning his coffee, and stepped not quite into the Commander's personal space. He took a deep breath. “Spock, I am hoping to every god I can think of from every world we've ever been to that you and I both think we just had the same conversation, and I hope you won't misunderstand me when I say that, next time, I'll be there for you again, if you need me.” He held out one hand, open and palm up, in a silent question he just managed to not let tremble.

For several very long heartbeats, Spock neither moved nor spoke, eyes fixed on Kirk's palm, then, seemingly of its own accord, one of Spock's long-fingered hands slipped out from behind him to form a hesitant fist against his sternum. His gaze flicked up to Kirk's face. “I understand your offer, Jim,” he said softly, “but I am concerned that you may not.”

“Trust me,” Kirk whispered, “I have a pretty good idea.”

Slowly, Spock reached out and lay his hand gently against Kirk's—the touch was brief, barely a second before Spock drew away, cool fingertips dragging over Kirk's calluses as he turned to walk out of the room, but in that moment Kirk felt both like he could breathe for the first time in years, and like he was drowning in a pool full of electric eels. That would explain why he suddenly felt like his ribcage was too small for his heart and why there was a sharp tingle in his brain that reminded him more than a little bit of waking up from phaser fire. He beamed at Spock's back, hand still held in mid air.

“I'll see you at dinner, I hope!” he called brightly as the door shut itself with a pneumatic hiss.

Still smiling, he closed his fingers over the memory of sensation.


	9. Chapter 9

Spock needed to eat. His body was quite insistent on the fact. Convincing his brain that he should do anything with the soup in front of him other than stir it, though, was proving difficult.

At the opposite end of the table, he could see that the level in his father's teacup hadn't changed in several minutes. Sarek, though, had entirely forgone the pretense of actually eating anything and hadn't bothered to get food. Spock was beginning to regret not having done that same—which would no doubt vindicate Sarek somehow. Spock set down his spoon and lifted his bowl to drink the broth.

Amanda wasn't sitting with them. The exchange of glances Spock had caught passing between his parents when she had entered was more than enough to tell him that his assumption that the ambassador's wife would see to any and all necessary admonishment was correct, and that, by her estimation, Sarek had not yet made the appropriate reparations. She was sitting in the corner with Bryn and Lieutenants Sulu, Uhura, and Ayani. From what snippets of their conversation he could make out through the general chatter of the Mess, they were talking about the frustrations involved with maintaining relationships with men.

Leryk was conspicuously absent.

Kirk, like Amanda, was sitting elsewhere. When the Captain had first come in, Spock and Sarek were both already seated as far from one another as they could be at the same table, a handful of particularly daring junior officers between them. He'd smiled warmly, but Spock had caught his eye and given a tiny half-shake of his head. Kirk had glanced at Sarek, given Spock a casual, friendly clap on the shoulder as he'd passed that Spock could still feel the ghost of, and carried on. Now he was sitting, chatting with Yeoman Rand and her usual companions.

There may have been some comfort in having Jim closer, but the opposing discomfort of Sarek's inevitable scrutiny greatly outweighed any such. It seemed Kirk had anticipated the same. His chosen seat was positioned behind Sarek such that the ambassador couldn't see the warm glances he apparently couldn't keep from sending Spock's direction every few minutes. But Spock could, though he tried not to notice.

Leryk's words echoed in his mind: _“Your daddy knows….”_

Spock was not aware of having given any manifest indication of his... _inclination_ , pheromonal or otherwise but, he reflected, many such indicators—the dilation of the pupils in hazel human eyes, for instance—were entirely involuntary and usually went unnoticed by the individual. Even so, he thought he would be cognizant of—but somehow Leryk had known. It wasn't a conjecture, either, he had been confident in the reality of his statements. He had known. Jim had known as well, but that could be adequately accounted for by his well-honed ability to read meaning into Spock's words. Nonetheless, neither datum boded well for Sarek remaining ignorant of the situation, if he wasn't already aware of it. At the very least, Sarek had not said anything. Lack of acknowledgement may have been the best privacy Spock could hope for.

Spock's spoon clicked against plastic and he realized with a start that he had finished his soup without registering eating it. He lay down his spoon and picked up his drink instead. He watched Sulu and Bryn get up from their table, return their trays, then head out, Sulu slinging his arm fraternally across the younger man's shoulders. Spock could see in his peripheral vision that Jim was watching the pair leave, too.

Spock finished his drink, dried the condensation that had transferred to his fingers from the glass, and got up to go without a word. He was sure he could find something in Astrophysics or Biochem that needed his attention.

 

~*~

 

Kirk watched Sulu and Bryn leave dinner, shortly followed by Spock, then Sarek a few moments later. When he saw Amanda rise fluidly from her table, excusing herself from Uhura and Ayani, he hurried to do the same, tossing a farewell to Yeoman Rand and his other tablemates as he did.

He caught up with Amanda partway down the corridor just outside the Mess Hall. “Ma'am?”

She paused and turned over her shoulder. “Captain?”

“If you have a moment, I'd like to talk to you about a couple things.”

She smiled. “I can certainly find a moment for you, Captain Kirk.”

He gestured for her to walk with him. “I trust Lt. Uhura told you the summit has been pushed back due to storm delays.”

“Yes,” Amanda confirmed, “she made of point of telling both me and my husband when she got to dinner and saw us.”

“Good,” Kirk said. “I notice,” he continued carefully, “that you weren't sitting with him tonight. Can I take that as a sign that Spock was correct in presuming that you could be trusted to make sure that the ambassador is...aware of the issues with his role in yesterday's spectacle?”

“Yes,” she said with a coolness that spoke volumes as they stepped onto the turbolift.

“I appreciate you handling that privately,” Kirk said, twisting the lever to take them up, “though I am sorry your marriage has gotten caught in the middle of this situation.”

Amanda shook her head. “Don't worry, I understand that your respective positions make the dynamics of power and authority between you and Sarek a bit delicate. Besides, all spouses fight sometimes—it's a fact of marriage. The health of the marriage lies in how those fights are handled, not in their nonexistence.” The lift stopped and she followed Kirk out, still talking. “I know that right now my husband needs some time and space to, quite literally, meditate on the matter, and I'll give him that—if for no other reason than because, as far as I'm concerned, he's still in the dog house until he's done his meditating and given what passes for an apology.” She huffed slightly and crossed her arms in a way that made her elaborately ruffled sleeves flutter dramatically. “Whether you'd done anything or not, after yesterday, he would have gotten an earful from me regardless.”

The reasonable, professional part of Kirk's brain told him that now was not a time for jokes, but another little voice in his head, one with a touch of a Georgian accent, couldn't resist drawing some rather entertaining connections between _Vulcan ambassador_ and _earful_. He apparently didn't quite squash that impulse fast enough, though, because Amanda smacked his elbow lightly and said, thankfully with a hint of amusement, “I think you've been spending a bit too much time with your ships's surgeon, Captain.”

“Probably,” Kirk admitted, chagrinned. He let them into his ready room. “Can I offer you a drink? You don't strike me as the brandy sort, but an after-dinner coffee? Unless your son's taste for tea is your influence?”

“His taste for tea is largely cultural, I think,” Amanda said, “but I am one of those rare creatures who's fond of both coffee and tea.”

“Coffee for us both, then?”

“I certainly won't object.”

Kirk set about getting them both mugs of coffee and handed hers to her before saying, “Part of why I want to talk to you is, I'm pretty sure you more so than anyone else on this ship have a fairly clear picture of what the whole situation is with Leryk and Sarek and the incendiaries between them. I know you've gotten close to Bryn the past couple days. So I ask you, as Captain of this ship, should I be worried?”

Amanda blinked at him once in mild surprise, frowned thoughtfully, looked down into her mug, then shook her head. “I don't think so. Sarek's stubborn but he's at a point where the more he tries to defend his actions yesterday—and frankly, the past few days—the more apparent it will become to everyone that those actions were illogical, and he'd be resorting to logical fallacies to defend them. That would be a worse blow to his pride than admitting he was wrong in the first place. I doubt he'll be causing any more trouble. I, personally, am worried about Bryn and Leryk, but theirs is a private drama, it shouldn't particularly affect the running of your ship.”

“Thank you. That's something of a relief.” He pulled out a chair for her, then for himself. Once they were settled, he asked, “Bryn and Leryk—are they alright?”

“It not my place to say much,” Amanda sighed, “but they've had a rough time of things. They're scared, they're stressed, and they're young. They're at that age where in a way they are adults, but they're also not quite grown up yet.” She snorted a little. “Honestly, I've yet to meet a culture on any planet where the people really are grown up by the time they're societally or legally considered adults. I think it may be a quirk of sentience that we need that gray area where we still need support, we still need guidance, in order to learn how to be full fledged adults. Those boys have been kind of robbed of that, I think. They've been on their own with just each other since they were teenagers. Six years ago they needed someone to be there, to be a parent to them, and they had no one. That's left them wounded. I'm glad to be in a position where I can be a kind of surrogate, at least for Bryn, now.”

Kirk nodded. “I'm glad you are, too. I must say, everything that's going on has raised quite a few questions for me regarding Vulcan culture—questions I would ask Spock if I though I'd get anything but a raised eyebrow in response.”

“Oh?” Amanda asked, raising an eyebrow herself.

“I hope you'll forgive my bluntness, but _pon farr_ must be happening all the time to someone or other, yet I know it's a highly taboo topic. How can a society function like that?”

Amanda had to quickly put down her coffee because she'd started laughing. “Captain Kirk—it functions on coded language and knowing looks, exactly as much of Terran culture did for centuries with regard to menstruation.The fact that so many male-born humans are still embarrassed or uncomfortable with the subject proves we haven't escaped that yet.”

“You're right, of course….”

She shook her head with a chuckle and picked up her mug. “Anything else?”

“Yes.” Kirk took a breath. “I was wondering, when are Vulcan children taught about _pon farr_? They must be taught some time, but if no one will talk about it…?”

“Around age fourteen.” Amanda shrugged. “It's part of their schooling. Of course, part of the lesson is to not talk about it. It's not that different from what sex ed was like in American schools on Earth until the mid twenty-twenties. Because of the pattern of our moving around in his youth, Spock _would_ have been subjected to both, but he managed to get himself exempted from all his health classes on Earth on the grounds that they were too focused on human biology to apply to him.”

“That sounds like something he'd do. Honestly, I would've done the same if I could have,” Kirk admitted. He paused just a bit, taking a moment to decide if his next question was too obvious. He didn't think so. “This is more general musings, but, do Vulcans kiss? I know there's the—how's it pronounced? Ohj-?”

“Ozh-esta,” Amanda provided.

“You'll have to forgive me, my Vulcan is horrible, as your son frequently reminds me.”

She smiled indulgently. “The pronunciation takes practice where it's humanly possible at all. It's a small comfort that the grammar is relatively simple and, well, logical. I know the ozh-esta gets called the Vulcan kiss, but that's not quite right. It is, though, the most common expression of physical affection in the culture, and the same word applies to various similar acts of differing levels of, oh, intensity? Intimacy? So in that way, yes, it's like kissing. What you've seen me and Sarek do, though—walking with our hands raised between us, fingers touching—that's as much as is appropriate in public and it's more like holding hands or linking arms. All that said, to answer your question, yes, Vulcans kiss, but because physical contact of any kind is so uncommon between Vulcans, and because the dominant forms of physical affection are variations on touching hands, that which you and I would recognize as a kiss is taken as a much more intimate gesture. The kind of thing usually kept to the bedroom, always kept to the home. Sarek is indulgent with me, but,” she grinned cannily, “you might want to ask Spock before you go trying anything.”

Kirk nearly dropped his coffee. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me, yes,” Amanda said fondly. “It's been apparent to me from the day I met you that you and my son are important to each other. I've also been married to a Vulcan for many, many years, Captain. I've had to learn to see emotion and affection for what they are through thick veils of decorum and social mores. I've seen and heard enough from each of you to piece things together, but I didn't think either of you were doing much about it. Your question makes me think that, either, I was mistaken, or things have changed recently.” She held up a hand to quiet him, cutting off the beginning of a reply he hadn't thought all the way through before opening his mouth. “Talk to Spock,” she suggested, or ordered—it sounded like an order. “I'm happy to be a resource for you, but there's sure to be a limit to how much he wants me to know, and that limit is liable to be low. So talk to him before you talk to me. Ask him your questions, he has the answers to most of them and won't hesitate to tell you when he doesn't, or when I'd be better equipped to give insight. You have to be able to talk to one another about these things, or there's no relationship to be had there.”

Kirk bowed his head and nodded slowly. “You're right. But,” he looked up pointedly, “you're a resource I only have access to for another couple days.”

She cuddled her coffee to her chest, eyes twinkling with what Kirk was seriously concerned might have been mischief. “I check my messages frequently, Captain.”


	10. Chapter 10

Bryn suddenly realized that someone was saying his name, and looked up quickly at Lt. Sulu, who was eyeing him cautiously.

“Huh? Sorry.”

“If you'd rather be somewhere else, I won't keep you,” Sulu saidsoftly.

“No, no.” Bryn shook his head and reached out to gently touch the nearest piece of astrometric equipment. “I love this stuff, and I do appreciate you showing me around. My mom was an astroscientist when I was little, so it's kind of comforting. The tech's evolved, but it's all the same idea. I'm just...a little distracted.”

“Understandably,” Sulu said sympathetically as he moved around a lab bench to quiet something that had started beeping. “Have you ever thought about applying to Starfleet Academy? There's a fleet-wide shortage of astroscience personnel, isn't there, Commander?” He tossed the question over his shoulder to where Commander Spock had been working, quietly intent on a terminal, since he'd arrived at the lab not long after Sulu and Bryn had.

Spock didn't even look up. “Due to high dropout and transfer rates from the field of study at the Academy, yes.”

Sulu held up a hand in something like vindication.

“Why's there a high drop out rate?” Bryn asked, watching a sensor readout plot an elegantly sweeping graph next to him.

“A-phys II breaks spirits and tanks grades,” Sulu said with a bright grin. He leaned back on his stool and laced his fingers behind his head. “It was a blow to the team down here when I lateralled to command crew.”

“The department has continued to function satisfactorily in your absence,” Spock said from the far end of the room, twiddling a knob exactingly.

Sulu rolled his eyes. “Would it kill you to allow me a moment of egoism? Sir.”

For the first time, Spock looked up, expression perfectly neutral. “I see no reason that failing to correct your blatant self-aggrandizement should cause any threat to my continued survival.”

Sulu sighed and chuckled, then looked up at Bryn and shrugged. “My point is, if this is the kind of thing you're into, the fleet could use you.”

“Thanks.” Bryn stuck his hands in his pockets. “I'll think about it. I think I'm gonna wander back up, now. See if—” he glanced toward Spock, who was intent on his readings again “—see if I'm still on the metaphorical couch tonight.”

“Good luck,” Sulu said earnestly.

Bryn gave a tight smile of thanks, raised his hand in farewell, and headed out. He had a change of plan almost as soon as he got on the turbolift. Instead of going to his quarters, he got off the lift early and went to sickbay. Dr. McCoy was sitting on the edge of his desk, reading, and glance up when Bryn walked in. The doctor frowned. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Bryn said quickly. “Yeah, evening's fine. Or as fine as it can be. I'm fine, at least.”

“Good.” McCoy set aside his PADD. “I'm starting to get used to you showing up with problems.”

“I just wanted to ask, you or Nurse Chapel are always on duty here, right?” Bryn tried to keep his tone conversational, but a nervous edge crept in anyway that the doctor definitely noticed.

He nodded slowly. “Pretty much, yeah. One, the other, or both of us is usually working. Every once in a while we're not. I'm always on call, of course. I can make sure easy that at least one of us is around for the next couple days or so.”

“I'd appreciate that,” Bryn said quietly.

McCoy took a step closer to him and lowered his voice to a concerned growl. “You think he might hurt you.”

Bryn took a breath and made himself meet the doctor's gaze. “I know he will.” He shrugged. “I'm human. I'm not built to hold up to what his green blood is putting him through. The best I can do is find ways to help myself weather it.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “Well, I don't like that one bit but I can't think of any good way outta it for you. You need me, I'll be here.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Bryn left sickbay, made a loop of the deck as much to stall as to calm his nerves, then went up to his quarters. The door wasn't locked this time; Leryk was keeping that promise, which was a relief. Bryn really didn't want to get security to override the lock, but he knew he would if it came down to it.

The lights were down; the heat was up. Leryk was laying on his side in bed shirtless, curled in on himself with his back to the door, the covers kicked down into a snarl by his feet. His head jerked up when Bryn entered, eyes narrowed, nostrils flared. Bryn held up his hands. “I need to shower.”

He hurried past to the bathroom, closed and locked the door behind him, and took several deep breaths, hand still lingering on the latch. He did need to shower, and since being on a starship of this caliber meant having access to the luxury of a real water shower instead of just sonics, that's what he was going to do. Sonics were fine, they worked, and the sonics here were decidedly superior to most of the ones Bryn had used over the past few years, but there was just something about water and bubbles.

He shed his clothes and dug through their battered toiletries bag on the small counter. They didn't actually have any soap—luckily, it was provided—but there was another bottle he wanted.

Bryn washed quickly, fumbled open the cap of the bottle he'd retrieved from the jumble of toothbrushes, nail clippers, and Leryk's hairties, leaned against the wall of the shower stall, and set to work helping himself weather what was to come. It was going to be tonight. It had to be, whether Leryk wanted it to be or not. Waiting any longer could mean cutting things closer than Bryn was comfortable risking. He breathed through his teeth.

After his shower, Bryn dried but didn't redress. He stood for a long moment staring at the bathroom door before he opened it and stepped out into his quarters surrounded by eddies of steam that drifted in the warm air. Leryk had moved from the bed to the desk, leaning on it, elbows locked, head dropped forward, face hidden by the frazzled curtain of his hair. At the sound of the door opening, he turned instinctively to peer through the fringe of his bangs at the source of the noise, he caught sight of his partner, and froze. Against the desk, his fingers went white.

Slowly and deliberately, Bryn padded across to him. He watched Leryk's face carefully as he neared, saw his breath catch roughly in his throat and the corners of his eyes twist in a desperate grimace. Despite his heart pounding against his ribs, Bryn kept his own breathing steady, his movements smooth. He reached for Leryk's hand but he jerked it away before they touched.

“Leryk,” Bryn whispered, “you need this. Let me help you.” He reached up to tuck back Leryk's hair, letting his fingers brush his cheekbone and trace the delicate angle of his ear, then he lay his hand against Leryk's cheek, took a breath, and stepped definitivelyinto the circle of his personal space. Leryk's eyes closed and he turned his head into the touch, nuzzling roughly. He inhaled deeply, one hand finding it's way to grip Bryn's arm.

“It's okay,” Bryn said more confidently than he felt. “Just let yourself go.”

The fingers around his arm tightened to the point of pain. Bryn shut his eyes hard just before Leryk's other hand grabbed him by the back of the neck and Leryk pulled him in, kissing him roughly and pressing them chest to chest.

When Leryk released him, Bryn had only an instant to breathe freely before hard groping hands hauled him to the bed, pushed him down, pinned him. He made the mistake of looking up into Leryk's face when he pulled back to tear at the closure of his trousers and saw nothing there but cold burning animal need. No love, no warmth, no recognition. Just like last time.

He closed his eyes again, tried to remember to breathe as he heard fabric hit the floor, tried to relax as unforgiving fingers dragged him by his hips. Breathe. Relax. He had to relax.

 

~*~

 

It wasn't until he felt the breath at his ear even out and deepen that Bryn dared move. Even then, it took a moment to center himself and find the wherewithal to carefully disengage Leryk's fingers from his thigh and stiffly extricate himself from bed. His hip popped and he hissed a stifled curse through his teeth.

Clothes. He needed to find clothes.

Trying to crouch in front of his half unpacked duffle pulled at too many places that were already protesting his having stood up, so he braced himself on the desk and stooped to pick up the long loose tunic Leryk must have discarded before Bryn had come back from dinner. He pulled his own shorts on under the shirt, decided that was dressed enough,and set out toward sickbay.

Walking was an act of will. One arm crossed tightly over himself, the other hand on the wall to ground him, he set one foot in front of the other, the carpet prickly on his bare feet. He just had to get to the turbolift. It wasn't that far. From the lift to sickbay wasn't far either. It was fine.

When the lift door slid open to admit him, it was occupied, and he found him self locking eyes with Captain Kirk, whose evident shock was something he did not have the patience for just then, so he drew himself up and asked, “Going down?”

Kirk gave a small nod. “If you are. What deck?”

Bryn stepped in and stared resolutely at the door as it closed. “Seven.”

The Captain twisted the control lever. When the door opened onto Deck Seven, Bryn nodded his thanks, waved off Kirk's offer of help,and stepped out. He didn't lean on the wall until he heard the lift door close again behind him, then he sagged and slowly shuffled the rest of his way to sickbay.

As promised, Dr. McCoy was there. He looked up at Bryn's entrance and nearly dropped the PADD he was reading from. “Oh hell.”

Bryn let the doctor half support him with a careful arm around his ribs and lead him through to the intensive care unit.

“I'm not that bad,” Bryn protested.

“You look like you might be,” McCoy countered sharply, helping him onto a biobed. “Besides, this is the closest thing I've got to a private exam room and I figure you'd rather not get gawked at by any odd crewmen wandering in for a headache.

“No,” Bryn sighed while McCoy ran him over with a tricorder. “Do I really look that bad?”

McCoy pursed his lips, pulled open a nearby drawer, grabbed a hand mirror, and held it out to Bryn. “See for yourself.”

Bryn took the mirror and looked. He was pale and drawn with the kind of shadows to his eyes that speak of pain not lack of sleep, his lip was split and scabbed, and there were ugly bruises mouthed into his neck and the corner of his jaw. His hair was also scrunched roughly. He put the mirror face down on the cot next to him and took a breath. “Okay. Fair.”

“Can you take your shirt off? I need to see.”

For a second, Bryn balled his fists, but then he complied, pulling the tunic off over his head despite his protesting joints. He bunched the fabric into a ball in his lap and stared at it. There were bruises gripped into his wrists, his arms, and more like the ones on his neck across his shoulders and chest along with one, maybe two bite marks. The doctor let out a long breath.

“I know how this looks,” Bryn mumbled.

“I have a responsibility as a mandatory reporter that I'm struggling to convince myself I don't have to fill right now,” McCoy muttered darkly. He gently turned Bryn's head with two fingers against his jaw so he could better see the bruising and bites at his chest. He stepped back. “I'm sorry but, what's under those shorts?”

Bryn stood reluctantly and removed what little else he was wearing. His hips and thighs were bruised much like his arms.

Worrying at a thumbnail, McCoy stepped around Bryn to look him over with clinical concern from all angles. “I figure I know why you're so ginger on your feet, too.” He grabbed a thin blanket from a lower drawer, tossed it to Bryn, and patted the biobed. “You bleed any?”

“No,” Bryn said quickly. He tucked himself up on the cot and wrapped himself in the sheet. “I'm okay there, just sore. I know what that feels like.” He took a breath and blinked rapidly. “Last time this happened…. So I know. I'm okay. Just been handled a little rough.”

“A little,” McCoy scoffed as he turned to dig through a cabinet.

“He's not normally like this.”

“They always say that,” the doctor said sternly, turning to face Bryn, some kind of egg-shaped medical device in hand. He looked hard at Bryn then sighed and shook his head. “I hate that you're probably the first one to ever be telling the truth about it.”

“He's not abusive,” Bryn snapped, fisting his fingers in the edge of his blanket. “I'm okay. I'm bruised, I'm sore, but I'm okay. I knew what I was in for tonight, I knew six years ago when I stayed with him that this is what I was signing myself up for. I don't like it, but I chose it. Because he's worth it to me. He didn't choose this. It's his body forcing him to do things he doesn't want. He's the one tonight is traumatic for, not me.”

“Alright,” McCoy surrendered. He stepped to Bryn's bedside and held up the egg-thing. “I can do some pulsed light treatment to help those bruises clear up, medicine to help with the discomfort and inflammation, and some dermal regenerator for that lip, and probably where he bit you, too, though I'm relieved he didn't break the skin. We'll get you cleaned up, of course. Then I'd like to keep an eye on you for a while, just in case.”

Bryn shook his head. “No.”

McCoy frowned. “Whadaya mean, 'no?'”

“You're not keeping me here. Once you have me patched up—which I'd appreciate you doing efficiently—I'm going back to my quarters. I don't know when Leryk will wake up, and I don't want him to be alone when he does.”

The doctor glowered and started prepping a hypospray. “Fine. But I'm walking you to your door.”

The medicine helped. The dermal regenerator stung something fierce but that meant it was working. The pulsed light faded the bruises enough that they looked about a week old. Much to Bryn's frustration, McCoy kept to his word about walking him back. Bryn stopped outside his door, feeling a lot less like he'd been hit by a truck than he had when he'd left.

“You can go now,” he told the doctor.

“I'm goin',” McCoy said. “But I expect to see you in sickbay for an update on you condition sometime tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Bryn agreed. He waited for the doctor to retreat down the hall before he let himself into his quarters. The lights were still down, Leryk was still in bed, snoring faintly, having moved only enough to pull a pillow close to cuddle it in place of his lover. Bryn smiled faintly, shed his shirt in the warmth, and lay down against Leryk's back. He kissed his shoulder and closed his eyes.


	11. Chapter 11

Kirk watched Bryn's back as the young man took careful steps down the corridor, clearly fighting not to limp, until the lift door slid closed, blocking him from view. Kirkshook himself slightly and twisted the lever to head up to his quarters. He'd lied a little when Bryn had asked if he was going down, but there was no way he was going to make the boy wait, not when he had the intimacies of pain written across his face.

Kirk reached his own door, stood outside it for just a second, then continued down the corridor to buzz at his First Officer's. It was a moment before the door opened onto Spock dressed in loose-fitting Vulcan robes of a muted purple-ish brown, the softly flickering light of an asenoi visible behind him. “Captain?”

“I'm sorry, were you meditating?” Kirk asked.

“I had been,” Spock said with a sidelong glance back at the meditation lamp.

“If now's not a good time….”

“Considering that it is shortly after midnight, I do not believe most people would consider now a good time for social calls. _However_ ,” he said firmly, cutting off Kirk's half-formed apology, “I presume there must be a matter of some urgency at hand or you would not be calling in the first place.” He moved from the doorway in a silent but clear invitation for Kirk to come in.

“It's not exactly urgent,” Kirk admitted as the door closed behind him.

“Nonetheless, you are here,” Spock noted, moving to extinguish his asenoi. “Evidently, you have cause to be.”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Kirk looked down at his hands while he organized his thoughts, then took a breath and looked up. “You were right, earlier. I didn't completely understand what I was offering.” He saw something chill and harden behind Spock's eyes and he quickly added, “I'm not changing my mind. I meant what I said. But you were right, and I should have given more credence to your concern.”

For a moment, Spock was quiet, then he inclined his head slightly and asked, “What prompted this realization?”

“Two things. I had quite an enlightening conversation with your mother after dinner—”

“You told her,” Spock said with a flatness that leaned into the accusatory.

“No.” Kirk half laughed. “Amanda Grayson is a very smart and perceptive woman, she figured us out on her own. She made the point to me that you and I need to be able to talk. I'm not very good at communicating with my partners, and I'm even worse at listening—it's a lot of why my history is as sordid as it is—but this is me trying.” He reached for Spock's hand, wasn't rebuffed, and laced their fingers together. “Then, just now, on the way back from completely losing track of time in the gym, I ran into Bryn in the lift.”

One of Spock's eyebrows ticked up slightly. “I see.”

Kirk looked away and nodded. “I think it's safe to presume that they've...consummated Leryk's _pon farr_ , if that's the right word.”

“The phraseology is...appropriate,” Spock said slowly.

“He looks like hell, Spock.” Kirk looked up into his First Officer's face. “I know Vulcans are strong, and I do have my own experience of what it's like to face that strength with all the safeties off,” he said carefully, “but I hadn't really thought through what that means in the context of an intimate relationship with someone of Vulcan heritage. It's an oversight I'm glad to have had corrected.”

Spock's expression was carefully neutral. “This correction has caused you fear.”

“I'm not scared.” He lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss against Spock's knuckles. “Anxious, sure, but luckily I have half a decade to psych myself up.”

Spock looked thoroughly unimpressed. He pulled his hand away and folded it with the other behind his back. “That presumes that half a decade from now you will, in fact, be in a position that such matters would concern you.”

That stung. Hackles up, Kirk bit back, “Isn't it a little soon to be predicting the failure of our relationship, Spock. We've hardly begun it.”

“Which is precisely why it is a little soon to predict its success.”

Kirk stared at him, sighed, and sank onto the edge of the desk. “Okay. I'm confused.” He shrugged. “I'm having trouble reading you right now. Is this—” he gestured between them “—something you want or not? Earlier you certainly gave the impression that it is, but now you're sounding like it's not. Help me out here.”

Spock studied him briefly. “It is a potential path forward that I believe I would find agreeable, but I do not wish to put you in a position wherein you are obligated to contend with unforeseen complexities and discomforts that—”

Kirk couldn't help but laugh. “Unforeseen complexities? Spock, I'm a starship captain, I live on unforeseen complexities. This week has been the calmest and most routine few days we've had in _months_ and here I am, flying through an ion storm at several times the speed of light, with probably the only two Vulcan-human hybrids in the entire universe aboard my ship; there was almost a diplomatic incident because the one of them kept getting into fights with the other one's father, who happens to be _the_ Vulcan ambassador to the Federation. My definition of a slow day is most people's idea of nightmarishly hectic. I get bored with anything else. Besides, in any relationship, things always come up. The traditional Terran marriage vow, at least where I'm from, is 'for better or for worse.'”

Spock eyed him. “You're proposing marriage.”

“Eventually.” Kirk shrugged. “Last I checked, Vulcans don't date.”

“Indeed.” Spock pulled out his desk chair and lowered himself into it. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at Kirk. “If we are to pursue this, there are some matters of discretion to be settled.”

“We do have adjoining rooms,” Kirk pointed out.

A light crept into Spock's eyes that in anyone more emotive would have been a smile. “That could prove convenient.”

Kirk considered the bathroom door thoughtfully. “It's a little surprising that in four years, I don't think we've ever once used the head as a throughway.”

“I believe the general enmity between us in the early days of our mission rendered such use unthinkable. By the time it became feasible, given our increased familiarity, to use the head as a throughway, it had become habit not to do so.

Kirk grinned slowly. “Mr. Spock,” he teased, “if that enmity was mutual, it means you _felt_ just as negatively toward me as I did toward you.”

With a kind of casual grace, Spock moved to slip his hand under Kirk's where it rested on his knee. He lifted it and turned it over to gently examine the fingers. “I certainly did not like you, Jim.”

Spock's tone was matter of fact, but there was a meter to his cadence that Kirk recognized as playfulness. Kirk's grin widened into a full warm smile. “I'm going to kiss you now, if that's alright.”

“I have no objections.”

Kirk freed himself from the gentle grip Spock had on his wrist, cradled Spock's face in his hands, and leaned in to press their mouths together. It was...softer than expected, and cool, punctuated with the feeling of sparks running to the top of Kirk's spine—his body's best guess at interpreting what must have been quite the exchange of psy-energy from Spock's point of view.

He pulled away after a moment and smoothed a hand over Spock's hair. “I'm going to like getting used to this.”

“I share the sentiment,” Spock said softly. He stood and stepped back. “But it is late. You should sleep.”

“Well you're no fun,” Kirk griped good naturedly and chuckled at the raised eyebrow it earned him. He took Spock's hand and gave it a squeeze. “Goodnight, then.”

Spock returned the familiar pressure on his fingers. “Goodnight, Jim.”

 


	12. Chapter 12

Leryk woke to a wave of nausea, a pounding headache, and a gentle thumb brushing back and forth, back and forth against his shoulder. He groaned hoarsely. The thumb at his shoulder stopped and disappeared as Bryn wrapped a comforting arm across his chest. Bryn.

He rolled over quickly—and that was a mistake. The movement blurred the nausea and the headache into one deeply unpleasant lurch. He scrunched his eyes shut. “Owe.”

“Hey,” Bryn said softly. He stroked Leryk's hair. “You're okay.”

Leryk cracked his eyes open and carefully turned to look at Bryn, reaching to trace his fingers over his freckled face. “Are you—? I didn't—?”

“I'm okay.” Bryn smiled gently. “Just a few bruises, not so bad as last time.”

“Good,” Leryk sighed. He cautiously brushed his fingers across the yellowed bruises on Bryn's throat, then tugged down the collar of his tunic to look at his chest. He frowned. “Did I bite you?”

“Just a little.” Bryn pushed himself up and pulled off his shirt to let Leryk see. “I snuck off to sickbay after you fell asleep, had Doc McCoy patch me up a little—”

“So it was all worse,” Leryk said darkly.

“Yeah,” Bryn admitted. “The bruises were darker, but mostly he just gave me painkillers so I wouldn't stay so sore. Worst I had was a bloody lip I gave myself.” He smoothed Leryk's bangs back and kissed his forehead. “I'm okay. I promise. How are you doing?”

Leryk closed his eyes and let out a long breath. “Queazy. Head hurts. Still a little, uh….”

“Horny?” Bryn provided.

“Yeah.” Leryk sighed.

“Well, I'm pretty sure if you so much as touch my ass, the good doctor is gonna turn up and sedate us both, but there's other things we could do.”

Leryk grimaced and shook his head slowly. “Queazier than I am horny. Pretty sure I'd've puked already except—when's the last time I ate?”

“Uh.” Bryn frowned. “It's been a while. I could go get you some food and find where those anti-nausea pills went off to?”

“I think they're in the desk drawer.” Leryk rubbed at his eyes. He felt the mattress shift as Bryn got up. He watched him move gingerly to the desk. “You're sure you're okay?”

“I'm sure.” He found the pill bottle and dropped it on Leryk's chest. “Just stiff. You want oatmeal, or rice?”

Leryk eased himself to sit up, popped open the bottle, and hummed. “Oatmeal.”

“Okay.” Bryn leaned over him to kiss the top of his hair. “I'll get you some.”

Leryk leaned back against the headboard, dry swallowed his drugs, almost immediately retched them back up, but managed to keep them down and watched Bryn dress. When Bryn left, Leryk sunk back down to the mattress and dozed best he could through his headache and the overall feeling of being completely disgusting.

 

~*~

 

Bryn's walk to the Mess Hall was a bit slow—he was stiff—but not uncomfortable. At least, not physically uncomfortable. Some of the crew he passed on the way eyed him with a curious concern he really didn't appreciate. Then he actually got to the Mess.

Thankfully, it was sparsely populated since it was rather late for lunch, but most every eye in the room turned to him as he entered and went to the bank of synthesizers, including those of Lady Amanda and Ambassador Sarek. Sarek looked back down at his food as soon as he'd had time to register that Bryn was there and who he was, but Amanda offered him a soft, understanding smile, which Bryn returned thinly.

At the synthesizer, Bryn put in the card for Leryk's meal, then held that tray in the crook of his left elbow and juggled things one-handedly to put in for his own order. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amanda lay her hand over her husband's, lean in to whisper something to him, then stand. She moved to join Bryn. “Would you like me to help you carry something.”

“Uh.” Bryn considered the tray somewhat precariously balanced on his arm and the second tray waiting to be picked up and he sighed. “Yes, actually, thank you.”

She took the second tray. “Back to your quarters, I suppose?”

“Yeah.”

She followed him, mercifully didn't start asking a million questions, and waited until the turbolift to gently ask, “How are you?”

“I'm okay. Better than last time.”

“And how's he?”

“He's…probably mentally flagellating himself more than he's letting on but at least I was awake when he woke up to tell him I'm okay.”

“Good,” she said softly and left it at that.

The door to the quarters hissed open and in the dim, Bryn saw Leryk raise his head, spot Amanda, and freeze.

“Hey, I got us lunch and Amanda gave me a hand,” Bryn said, setting down Leryk's tray on the bedside table and kneeling on the mattress.

Amanda set down her tray and retreated a couple steps. “I'll go; I don't mean to intrude.”

“No,” Leryk croaked hoarsely, sitting up and tucking the sheet tighter around his waist. He cleared his throat and glanced fleetingly at Amanda. “Thank you. And,” he cleared his throat again, “I'm sorry—for, uh, causing drama.”

“Well, it was hardly your fault,” she assured him. “I don't think you said anything _objectively_ untrue, and frankly my husband should have known better. I'm just glad to see you're alright. You've had a rough week; I wish you wouldn't be so hard on yourself.”

Leryk looked over at Bryn, who offered him his bowl of oatmeal. Leryk took it, stirred it, and glanced at Amanda. “How many times have you...you know…?”

“Oh, goodness,” Amanda breathed. “Five, or six. I stopped counting at two.”

“Does it get better?” he asked his oats.

Amanda folded her hands. “Yes.”

Leryk nodded slowly and continued to poke at his food.

“Please eat,” Bryn said quietly.

Leryk's eyes flicked to him. “You're sure you're okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Bryn affirmed. “I really am okay.”

“If I may,” Amanda began, “Leryk, I heard you locked Bryn out for most of a day. You made yourself wait. You don't have to do that.”

Leryk shook his head. “I can't knowingly let myself hurt him if I—”

“No, you see, that's the point,” she interrupted gently. “When you put it off, your body knows what's at risk so, eventually, it overrides and takes what it needs, but if you go ahead early on, you never get so desperate, you can keep better control and _not_ hurt him.”

Leryk stared at her.

She shrugged a little. “I'm sorry I didn't have the opportunity to tell you that a couple days ago, though I'm not sure you'd have listened if I had.”

“Probably not,” Leryk admitted.

Bryn grinned fondly and cuffed Leryk's shoulder. “Eat your oatmeal, and next time listen when I tell you to just fuck me.”

Leryk rolled his eyes grumpily and shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth while Amanda chuckled.


	13. Chapter 13

Near the end of Alpha shift, Kirk was lounging in his chair on the bridge at an angle that would hopefully at least give him a _different_ crick in his back, staring at the viewscreen without really seeing the crackling purple and pink swirls of the ion storm, and rolling the blunt end of a PADD stylus against his temple. He could really use another cup of coffee and, since things were blissfully calm by Enterprise standards, he was allowing himself to be less than focused. At the very edge of his field of vision was Spock, back to him, bent studiously over the science station, talking quietly with Chekov about the fascinating readings they were getting off the storm and all the implications thereof. Spock, his incredibly improbable  _requited_ crush. Spock. Whom he had kissed last night and had actually said aloud that he had intentions to _marry_. What had happened to James Kirk?

He wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure he liked it.

“Captain?” Yeoman Rand asked politely. “Have you finished reviewing that resource usage report?”

“Oh.” Kirk straightened up in his chair. “No. My thoughts must have wandered away.”

“Distracted, Captain?” Uhura teased lightly.

Kirk saw Spock look up.

“I must be suffering from a lack of emergencies, Lieutenant,” Kirk quipped back. He stood, stretched, and turned to Rand. “I think I'll finish this in my quarters,” he said, slipping the stylus into its slot on the PADD. “I'll get it to you later.”

“Of course, Captain,” Rand acknowledged.

Kirk tucked the PADD under his arm. “Mr. Spock—?”

Spock stood to attention and quirked an eyebrow.

Kirk took a breath. “You have the con.”

Spock nodded once. Kirk strode from the bridge. He did need to review the report, but he also needed coffee. Coffee first.

He could get coffee from the synthesizer in his ready room, but getting it from the Mess meant giving himself a little more time to not deal with paperwork, and to keep an eye on the goings on of his ship, of course. He nearly ran into Sarek turning the corner from the lift.

“Ambassador,” Kirk said easily. “Not getting into any more trouble, I hope.”

“I have not seen Leryk,” Sarek said flatly.

“Right.” Kirk nodded. “Well, I hope your last day aboard the Enterprise is unremarkable. We should be arriving at Hawking seven in roughly eighteen hours.”

Sarek inclined his head. “Good. The past few days have been...” he paused, “undesirably eventful. Coincidences that should have been of little consequence were made unnecessarily contentious, in part by my actions. I was remiss.”

“Apology accepted,” Kirk said curtly. “I hope you're able to catch Leryk and Bryn before we arrive tomorrow, so you can mend that fence.” He continued on his way before Sarek could do more than inhale.

Kirk got himself a coffee and a pastry and wound up sitting in the Mess across from Dr. Mulhall, each of them silently working on their own paperwork. After a while, Kirk lay his PADD flat and leaned back, rolling his neck and shoulders.

“Are you alright, Captain?” Dr. Mulhall asked over her mug of tea and her own PADD.

“Other than fleet issue furniture slowly trying to reshape my spine, I'm fine. Well,” he amended, “that, and a bureaucracy-induced headache.”

“Maybe you should see a medical doctor about that,” she suggested with a faint smile.

“What are you trying to tell me, Anne? That you're a doctor, not a  _doctor_?”

“Something like that,” she chuckled.

“You're right, though.” Kirk scribbled his signature at the bottom of the report, slipped the stylus into its slot, and stood. “Maybe if McCoy chews out the right people they'll start putting chairs on these ships that are actually designed for some known species.”

 

“I've suggested it before and I'll suggest it again,” Bones said, tossing Kirk painkillers. “You need glasses.”

“My vision's fine!” Kirk objected then took a couple pills.

“Your vision's great!” McCoy agreed. “You're the slightest bit farsighted—makes you a great scout and a great shot, but it's also why paperwork always gives you a headache. And why you prefer your classic literature in audio form even though you keep a shelf full of bound books for show. Get some glasses and you won't see me as much for headaches. As for your back,” he shrugged, “you could try sitting like a civilized person, but I'll talk to the Quartermaster about getting that chair recushioned.”

“Thank you, Bones.”

The sickbay door slid open and Bryn and Leryk came in, both looking tired, Leryk still looking distinctly unwell, Bryn at least looking a hell of a lot better than he had the night before.

“Ah, there you are,” McCoy griped, abandoning Kirk to tend to these new patients. “If you didn't show up soon I was 'bout to go hunt you down myself. Up, beds four and six.” He smacked a hand on the end of bed four then turned to Kirk. “You're cleared, Captain.”

“Actually, I could use to talk to these two,” Kirk said slowly.

“Can it wait?” Leryk asked gruffly as McCoy went over him with a tricorder.

“Yes, of course,” Kirk acquiesced. “Doctor, when you're done with them, page me and send them to my ready room, won't you?”

“Sure thing, Jim,” Bones said dismissively without turning his attention from Leryk. “How's your nausea?”

 

Kirk got in almost an hour on the bridge—most of which was spent listening to Chekov, of all people, Pavel Chekov, the most relentlessly gynophilic man on the entire ship, arguing at Sulu that men were in fact worth dating—before McCoy paged him and he headed down to his ready room to meet Leryk and Bryn.

They stood silently across his desk from him.

“How are the two of you?” Kirk asked casually.

“We're fine,” Leryk replied, clipped.

“Sit down, please. Relax.” He gestured to the empty chairs. “You're not in trouble, and I didn't ask you here so I can pry into your personal matters.”

“Why did you ask as here, then?” Bryn asked as he and Leryk sat.

“I need to figure out what to do with you.” Kirk folded his hands. “We're arriving at Hawking Seven tomorrow, and technicality that's where I ought to drop you. Standard operation is that anyone a fleet ship picks up unexpectedly is left at the next safe port of call, unless they warrant being turned over to law enforcement or can be picked up by a friendly ship.”

The two young men shared a glance.

“Obviously, I'm not handing you over to the authorities,” Kirk continued. “If I were going to, it would have been when you first got here. And you really don't have anyone out there to come pick you up. So, Hawking Seven looks like the way to go, but I can't say that it sounds like a very good idea to leave you, Leryk, in the same place I'm leaving Ambassador Sarek.”

“Yeah, well….” Leryk pushed his hair behind his ear and looked away.

Kirk held up his hands. “Not a judgement, just an observation.”

“You're not wrong,” Bryn admitted.

“Mhm,” Kirk nodded. “Which leaves me with the problem of what to do with you.”

“Drop us at the _next_ next port of call?” Leryk suggested with a shrug.

“If the Enterprise weren't chiefly an exploratory vessel, that would be a good option, but the reality is we usually don't know where we're going and don't have any guarantee the next world we encounter will be habitable, let alone friendly. What then? Wait for the port after that? I don't like the idea of keeping the two of you aboard indefinitely. I have a suggestion, if you're interested—Bryn, Lt. Sulu has mentioned that you have an interest in astrophysics.”

“I do,” Bryn said cautiously. “He also told me Starfleet has a shortage of astrophysicists, so I think I know where you're going with this.”

“Very sharp.” Kirk grinned approvingly. “Yes. If you'd like, there is a Federation station not far from the Hawking system, at Rosario. We could drop you off there and arrange passage for you to Earth where you could apply to Starfleet Academy, or at least to university. Both of you,” he added, looking to Leryk. “I'm prepared to write blanket letters of recommendation for you.”

They looked at each other again.

Bryn started to say, “I don't know—” but Leryk took his hand and cut him off.

“We are _never_ gonna get a better shot than this, Bryn,” he said. “To have direction, to belong somewhere, to see the planet our parents or at least our ancestors were born on.”

Bryn squeezed his hand and nodded then turned back to Kirk. “Please take us to the Rosario station.”

 


	14. Chapter 14

The Enterprise exited the ion storm early the next morning. Kirk could feel it as soon at his ship crossed the threshold—everything suddenly smoothed over, the edge-of-audible thrum of the engines, the background buzz of a dozen systems working in the walls, even the charge in the recycled air, all evened out. Still getting dressed for the day, Kirk paused to take a breath too. They'd be to Hawking VII soon.

Kirk stepped out into the corridor less than a moment after Spock, but his first officer was already striding away toward the turbolift.

“Good morning,” Kirk called brightly. Spock stopped and turned back, returning the greeting with an incline of his head, giving Kirk just enough time to fall into step with him before asking, “Breakfast?”

“That was my intention,” Spock said, as warmly as he ever said anything. His shoulder brushed Kirk's.

 

Things were calm at breakfast. Things were calm on the bridge, punctuated only by the occasional maintenance report coming up to catalogue the steady repair of the minor damage they'd sustained in the storm. Things were calm all day until shortly after lunch when, at the close of an informal meeting to iron out the last of the preparations for their arrival at the summit, Kirk's—and probably everyone else's—attention was drawn by Amanda snapping, “No, and you still haven't apologized, either.”

“I haven't had the opportunity,” Sarek deflected.

“Well, you're quickly running of chances.” She turned and asked the room, “Do any of you happen to know where we could find Leryk and Bryn? I'd like to say goodbye before we go.”

“I believe,” Spock answered mildly, “they intended to visit the ship's botanical gardens after lunch.”

“Thank you, Spock.” Amanda looked Sarek in the eye and held up one hand, two fingers outstretched. “Shall we, husband?”

Sarek exhaled slowly, touched his fingers to hers, and left with her. The door slid closed. One of the two security officers cleared his throat awkwardly.

“As we have just discussed,” Spock said, “they will only be aboard another hour.”

Kirk nodded, took a breath, and clapped Spock's arm. “We...should get back to the bridge.”

 

Leryk was mostly zoned out, idly rubbing the soft fuzzy leaf of some bright red succulent between his fingers while Bryn read off facts about it from a borrowed PADD. He was still tired, but he was glad to have things mostly back to normal. They both looked around at the sound of footsteps.

“Amanda,” Bryn said, surprised. “And Ambassador Sarek. I thought you were leaving.”

“We are.” Amanda stepped forward. “I couldn't just go without saying goodbye.” She held open her arms and quirked one eyebrow questioningly.

Bryn hugged her. “It's been good to meet you.”

“And you.” Amanda gave him a squeeze then let go and turned to Leryk. After a moment's hesitation, he hugged her too.

They broke away from each other, Leryk mostly looking down at his shoes, his hair obscuring his face. Amanda looked over her shoulder at her husband.

Sarek stepped forward. “Leryk.”

“Whatever you're about to say,” Leryk held up a hand, “I don't wanna hear it.”

“I only mean to...apologize—”

“I don’t care.” Leryk almost laughed. “Apology not accepted. You’re not forgiven. You don’t deserve it. I wish I had conducted myself better this past week so I could have little bit more moral high ground in this conversation, but the part of my biology that’s like yours didn’t allow me that. I said and did things I shouldn’t have,” he admitted, “but so did you, and you don’t even have the excuses of hormone imbalance and being young, stupid, and half human. You, with your mixed marriage and your mixed son, all so successful and well respected. You must see yourself as some kind of pillar of inclusion and understanding, but you’re just as much of a specist prick as any other Vulcan. You’ve made that clear. You’ve treated me like shit just for being who and what I am. So fuck you and your platitudes. I know you're only even trying to make amends because she told you to.” He nodded toward Amanda. “And I know you're not prepared to be rejected. I hope this haunts you. I hope it gnaws at your conscience. And I hope it inspires you to be a little bit less of a dick.”

After a silent heartbeat, Leryk shouldered past Sarek and walked away.

“That went well,” Bryn observed with pleasant surprise.

“I do not see,” Sarek said icily, “how you would deem that to be the case.”

“Oh, I thought for sure he was gonna try to hit you.” Bryn shrugged. “For what it's worth, I appreciate the effort. I mean, I agree with him, but I'm definitely coming away from this thinking you're  _less_ of a dick than I would if you hadn't apologized.” He turned. “Thank you, again, Amanda. For everything. I hope the summit goes well.” With that, he went after his partner.

Sarek and Amanda stood in silence until the distance hiss of the garden door indicated Bryn's exit. The ambassador turned to his wife. “Are you satisfied?”

“I am.” Amanda inclined her head. “Sometimes apologies are not accepted, but that in no way means they shouldn't be given.”

 

With the Enterprise finally in orbit around Hawking VII, Kirk, Spock, and Scotty gathered in the transporter room to see off their guests.

“Your things have already been sent down,” Scotty informed Sarek and Amanda chipperly. “Everything's in order.”

Sarek inclined his head in acknowledgement and Amanda gave a quiet, “Thank you, Mr. Scott.”

“Of course, ma'am.”

“I trust you got to say all your goodbyes, Amanda?” Kirk asked.

“We did,” Amanda said with a pointed glance at her husband.

“It went well,” Sarek said flatly.

“Did it?” Kirk couldn't help a note of surprise.

“Oh, yes.” Amanda's eyes sparkled. “No punches were thrown.”

“Ah, good.” Kirk bowed his head briefly. “Well, good luck at the summit, Ambassador.”

“Luck will not be needed.” Sarek folded his hands.

“Of course not.” Kirk smiled. “But I still wish you well.”

Sarek paused. “Thank you.” He mounted the transporter pad alongside his wife and raised one hand in the ta'al. “Live long and prosper.”

Spock and Kirk both returned the gesture. Spock responded, “Peace and long life.”

“You take care of each other,” Amanda admonished.

“We will,” Kirk assured her. He looked to his engineer. “Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, Captain.”

Scotty slid the controls, the air shimmered, and Sarek and Amanda dissolved away. The shimmer faded and all three men let out breaths none of them knew the others were holding.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Kirk leaned against the wall of the lift and tipped his head back. “Spock.”

“Captain?”

“Spock,” Kirk said again with a trace of impatience.

“Jim?” Spock tried again.

“Your parents are exhausting.”

“I believe it is predominantly my father whose presence is draining,” Spock countered gently.

“No, no.” Kirk pushed off the wall. “Your mother is exhausting, too, when she's not intentionally making herself tame. The difference is, it's a matter of running after Amanda trying to keep up with her. With Sarek it's a matter of dancing around decorum while resisting the urge to—bang my head on the nearest hard surface, at least.”

Spock exhaled sharply. “You are not the first to express the impulse.”

Kirk reached out and briefly took Spock's hand, then let go quickly as the lift stopped before the doors opened. He strode onto the bridge ordering, “Mr. Sulu, take us to Rosario Station.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“And Mr. Sulu?” Kirk asked as he settled into his chair.

“Sir?” Sulu turned over his shoulder.

“You were in astrophysics and you're the one who's talked to Bryn about it.” Kirk drew a PADD from next to his chair and opened a document editor. “I'd like you to write a letter of recommendation for him before we get to Rosario. I'll be writing one, as well.”

Sulu nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

~*~

 

Leryk was alone in his and Bryn's quarters with the heat jacked up, braiding back his hair, still slightly damp from showering. The door chimed with requested entrance. Leryk froze for a moment then called, “Come in.”

Spock stepped in, hands folded at his back. The door slid shut.

Leryk stood from the corner of the mattress and quickly tied off his braid. “What do you want?”

“To offer to write a letter of recommendation for you,” Spock said simply.

Leryk paused. “Hang on, what?”

“The captain is writing letters of recommendation for you and Bryn, to increase the likelihood of your being accepted to Startfleet Academy, or other education.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And Mr. Sulu is writing a second one for Bryn.”

“That's nice of him,” Leryk noted, eyeing Spock warily.

“I am offering to write one for you.”

“Why?”

Spock cocked his head. “It would be inequitable for you to only have one letter while Bryn has two.”

“Yeah, but why would _you_ want to do this for _me_?” Leryk crossed his arms and shrugged. “I've been kind of a dick to you.”

For a moment Spock considered him. “Because even impaired by biological crisis, you have proven intelligent and astute. You speak and act with confidence, but not arrogance. Also, I believe there is beneficial precedent to be set by your potential success.”

Leryk chuckled darkly and looked away, then looked back. “What? Yours isn't enough to prove a point?”

“No,” Spock said plainly.

The word hung in the air between them. Leryk nodded slowly and let out a breath. “Y'know, I think I may have misjudged you at first.”

“And I you,” Spock agreed solemnly.

“Eh,” Leryk half shrugged, “everyone has their biases.”

“Indeed. I believe,” Spock added carefully, “we may have each made the same faulty assumption.”

Leryk grinned slowly. “That the other's really Vulcan?”

It took a moment, but Spock nodded. “Precisely.”

Leryk couldn't help but laugh. He sobered. “I would very much appreciate if you'd write me a letter of recommendation.”

“I will do so.”

“Thank you,” Leryk said earnestly.

Spock turned to go.

“And Spock,” Leryk said quickly. The First Officer turned back. “I'm sorry. For lashing out at you. You didn't deserve it, you weren't the one antagonizing me. It was unfair, and I definitely said things to you and about you that I shouldn't have said at all, especially in public.”

“You were not in full control of—”

“I knew what I was saying.”

Spock inclined his head. “Apology accepted. But also I thank you, for broadening my own perspective.”

“Any time.”

With one last nod, Spock left the room. Leryk sank back down to the mattress and let out a long breath.

 

~*~

 

After dinner, Kirk sat in his quarters, leaned back in his chair, stockingfeet propped on his desk with a PADD in his lap, staring at the ceiling, trying to think of a more professional way to say “this kid is exactly the kind of stubborn dumbass who will get shit done whether you want him to or not, so you might as well give him the resources.”

A knock interrupted his brain-wracking and he frowned. A _knock_ , not the usual chirp, a knock—at the bathroom door.

“Spock?” Kirk asked incredulously.

The door opened and, sure enough, there was Spock, out of uniform, using the head as a throughway.

Kirk laughed and moved his feet to the floor. “I know we talked about this, but I don't think I was ready for the reality of it.”

“I elected to take initiative in establishing it as habit.”

“I approve.” Kirk stood and set his PADD aside. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought I should enquire as to your progress in writing the letters of recommendation for Leryk and Bryn, and offer my assistance, should you need it, since I have completed my own letter.”

“I didn't know you were writing one.”

Spock nodded. “For Leryk. I sought to balance out Bryn receiving two letters—one from you, one from Mr. Sulu.”

“I didn't even think about that.” Kirk smacked himself in the forehead, then rubbed at his temple. “Thank you for doing that.” He sighed and picked up the PADD. “I'm almost done, I just have to figure out how to phrase something then wrap it up.”

With Spock's help wording things, it only took a few minutes for Kirk to finish the letter. He tossed the PADD aside—it skid a few inches across his desk but stopped short of the edge.

“There,” Kirk said. He kicked back in his chair again and almost tipped it too far, but caught himself with one foot on the underside of the desk. He grinned up at Spock, who had jerked to catch him as well. “I'm alright. I have _a lot_ of practice not cracking my head open while using chairs wrong.”

Spock glowered at him.

“You worry about me,” Kirk observed curiously.

“You provide ample reason to do so,” Spock said tersely.

Kirk stood, studied Spock's face, and took his hand. Spock looked away, then pulled his hand from Kir's grasp and took a few steps toward the wall.

“Spock?” Kirk asked softly.

For several long moments Spock didn't say anything. Eventually, he turned back. “You made earlier mention of it being imperative that you and I be able to openly discuss certain matters,” he said with a carefulness that belied the struggle it was for him to string the words together, “as a couple.”

“Yes,” Kirk agreed, unsure where Spock was going.

“At that time,” Spock continued, “you also mentioned your own shortcomings with regards to initiating and participating in such discussion.”

“I did.”

“In the interest of equanimity, I think it necessary that I do the same.” Spock looked down, hands folded into the sleeves of his robes. “You are, I believe, keenly aware that I have difficulty articulating my own...subjective perceptions.”

“Your feelings.”

Spock paused. “Yes. You are also aware of my having been raised in a culture which values objective perception and logic over _feelings_.”

“You've mentioned it once or twice, yes.”

“This is largely responsible for my previous point.”

Kirk folded his own arms and nodded slightly. “I figured as much.”

Spock cleared his throat and took a breath. “Interpersonal relationships of an intimate nature do require communication between partners about matters which are inherently subjective—this is true of both humans and Vulcans. Having been raised predominantly on Vulcan with Vulcan cultural expectations, and anticipating that my eventual marriage would be to a Vulcan woman, I had neither reason nor opportunity to learn how to _discuss_ such subjective matters, as the requisite communication thereof would, in a Vulcan couple, be done via the telepathic link that exists between spouses.”

“And because I'm human, that doesn't really work,” Kirk concluded.

“Correct.” Spock met Kirk's gaze. “I recognize that you will at times require that I verbalize my...feelings. I request that you inform me when you need me to do so, and I apologize in advance for my inevitable ineloquence.”

“I'll let you know. And you don't have to apologize.” Kirk stepped forward. “I appreciate you making the effort.” He lay a hand on Spock's folded forearms. A heartbeat later, Spock uncrossed his arms, twined his fingers with Kirk's in a kind of half ozh-esta and leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed. Kirk brushed his thumb back and forth over the side of Spock's hand. “How are you?”

“I,” Spock began, then stopped, “...don't know.”

“Mm,” Kirk hummed shortly. “Computer—play Satie, Gymnopédie Number One.” As soft, slow piano music filled his quarters, Kirk found Spock's other hand and brought it to his chest, then lay his own hand against Spock's flank. He swayed them gently and Spock let him. “I'm happy you're here,” he murmured. “I'm relieved to have made it to Hawking Seven and seen your parents off. I'm excited to be getting back to our regularly scheduled exploring soon. I'm astounded and thrilled that having a relationship with you is something I'm getting to do in my life. I'm sad and sorry that you seem to be having a hard time with it, and frustrated that I don't really know how to help.”

Spock flattened his palm against Kirk's chest. “I am similarly relieved with regard to our mission to Hawking Seven,” he said deliberately. “I am also...pleased that you and I have...initiated courtship.”

“I think we might be a little past 'initiating courtship,'” Kirk pointed out. He moved to lean his head on Spock's shoulder, feeling his heartbeat under his fingers through the soft fabric of Spock's robe.

“Perhaps,” Spock conceded, then fell quiet again. The song ended and another classical piece began. “I have some unease over my inexperience,” he admitted, “especially in comparison to your...worldliness.”

“You're allowed to say I'm a slut,” Kirk said impishly. He leaned back to look into Spock's face and moved to loop his arms loosely around Spock's neck. “And you don't have to be self-conscious. No two people have exactly the same experience, even if neither of them have had a partner before. There's always discrepancy there—it's normal, it doesn't matter.” He smoothed a finger along one of Spock's eyebrows. “You're not lacking.”

“Thank you,” Spock murmured, leaning his face into Kirk's hand.

Kirk leaned up to kiss him softly, then tugged him toward the bed. “C'mere, sit with me.”

Spock allowed himself to be led over to sit on the edge of Kirk's mattress with him. There they kissed, warm and slow, Kirk cradling Spock's face, Spock's hand on Kirk's thigh—until Kirk started laughing. At first it was just a slight smirk into the kiss, then a giggle, but in short order Kirk was slumped against Spock, guffawing into his chest. Spock looked down at him in confusion so intense it bored on alarm. “Jim? I do not understand this outburst—have I done something amusing?”

Kirk shook his head, pushing away. He took a breath to compose himself, failed in the attempt, but managed to gasp, “You taste like _pennies_!”

Spock stared at him while Kirk continued to giggle into his hand. “I—what?”

“They're old Earth currency, long obsolete,” Kirk managed to say between fits of mirth, “but a friend of mine had a coin collection full of them—Spock, they're made of _copper_.”

Spock blinked and cocked his head. “Jim...your observation implies that you have had antique, possibly even ancient coins in your mouth.”

“Yeah.” Kirk shrugged. “We were eleven, she dared me to. It was a matter of social standing, I had to. _The point is_ ,” Kirk said firmly, grinning mischievously, “you taste like pennies, and I like it.” With that, he tackled Spock to the mattress and resumed kissing him.

 

~*~

 

Mid-morning, with the Enterprise docked at Rosario, Kirk walked with Leryk and Bryn to the airlock the gangway was attached at. Leryk was bundled in his coat again, just like when he'd shown up in the cargo bay, and both boys had their bags over their shoulders.

“Here are your letters,” Kirk said, handing over a pair of memory cards, “and your itinerary,” he added, handing that over as well. “It's a bit of a long trip, and you'll have a couple connections you have to make along the way, but the last shuttle from Luna will take you to right to San Fransisco where the main Starfleet Academy campus is.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Bryn said, tucking the letters and itinerary into his vest. “So much. You would have been well within your rights to lock us up or throw us out, but you didn't, and instead you're providing us with a life changing opportunity.” He bowed his head as they came to a stop just outside the airlock. “I know I wasn't very excited about it when you first suggested it, but I do really appreciate this—I'm just nervous.”

Leryk put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulders. “Same.”

“You're about to start something you've never done before,” Kirk said. “That's always scary, but I expect you'll both do very well.”

“We appreciate your confidence in us,” Leryk said. “And we're sorry for the trouble we've caused.”

Kirk dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. “We deal with matters of life and death so often, your brand of trouble is almost fun by comparison, don't worry about it. And, honestly, both of you have done good for me personally, and my crew—from dance parties to wakeup calls. You're owed some thanks, too.”

Leryk snorted. “Well, you're welcome, then.”

Kirk shook their hands and they turned to head down the gangway. Bryn turned back after half a step. “And, uh, Captain?”

“Hm?” Kirk hummed.

“You might wanna pull your collar up—or, get some concealer.”

Kirk tugged at the neck of his tunic and cleared his throat, “Thank you for catching that. Good luck, you two.”

The boys flashed thumbs up and walk away, hand in hand, disappearing onto the station at the other end of the gangway. Kirk stood alone in the quiet of the empty airlock, taking a moment for himself before returning to the bridge and his duties. There were plenty of new frontiers he was eager to explore.

 

 


	16. Epilogue

The command crew, minus the Captain and First Officer, plus a handful of lower ranking crew from every department gathered in one of the rec lounges. Scotty stood in the middle of the room, all eyes on him.

“This meeting of the USS-Enterprise betting society has been called on account of Dr. McCoy has information to settle the largest pool we have,” Scotty announced. He gestured for Bones to take the floor. “Doctor?”

McCoy stepped forward, arms crossed. “Over the course a yesterday, both the Captain and Mr. Spock came in to nick dermal regen cream.” He rolled his eyes. “Apparently they're both about sixteen years old 'cause they've got hickeys. Spock wouldn't say a damn thing, which is to be expected, but I think you all know Kirk's usually pretty chatty.”

“I definitely know more about Kirk's escapades with the local princess, or rebel leader, or bartender from every planet we've been to than I need to,” Yeoman Rand agreed.

“Exactly,” Bones said. “'Cept he wouldn't tell me for anything who he made out with, which is as good as saying it was Spock.” He held out his arms and stepped back.

“So, they've finally gotten together,” Scotty concluded. He took the PADD Sulu held out to him and continued solemnly, “This means that, after forty-three long months, it's time to close out the bet for 'What's It Gonna Take For Kirk And Spock To Figure Out They're Hopelessly Smitten With Each Other.' It seems to have taken a combination of 'We Deal With Spock's Parents Again,' 'More Vulcan Biology Bullshit,' 'Someone Else's Cross-Species Relationship Problems,' and 'Somebody Calls One Or Both Of These Idiots Out On Their Crush,'” he read off the spreadsheet on the PADD. “That gives fifty credits apiece to Dr. McCoy and Ensign Chekov, a hundred to Lieutenant Ayani, two hundred to Yeoman Rand, and,” he tucked the PADD away, “the entire rest of the pot to Lieutenant Uhura who bet on all four of those, and nothing else.”

To applause and frustrated grumbles, Uhura stood and bowed dramatically. “Thank you, thank you!”

“You're buying us all a round next time we have shore leave, right?” Sulu asked

Uhura laughed. “Sure thing, Hikaru.”


End file.
